


Sweetheart

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gore, Guys I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT5, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 149,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serial Killer AU</p>
<p>There's a serial killer lose in Gotham City. Since when is that news? There have always been no end to killings in Gotham. John Blake has made a hobby out of trying to gather all of the information on them that he can while he's still working his way through the police academy. Everyone needs a hobby, right?</p>
<p>Unfortunately John is a little too smart for his own good at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT- This is a Halloween teaser guys which means it won't be uploaded regularly for a week or two yet! What better time to put out the first chapter for a serial killer AU then on Halloween?

He was alone for his birthday, and he was absolutely not going to pout about it, not when Josh had tried so hard to find someone to cover for his haul, and especially not when he’d been so sweet on the phone to him that morning and talked to him while he was on the road and John had been frantically trying to get ready for class.

_______________

_“So did you find it, yet?”_

_John stopped in confusion as he cradled the phone against his neck so he could keep it to his ear while he smeared some of the cheap, delicious, fake butter crap he had bought onto his toast. “Find what?”_

_“Mhm, really? I thought for sure you would discover it, my little detective.”_

_He couldn’t contain his sudden grin. “What? Where is it?”_

_“Under your pillow.”_

_He shoved his toast into his mouth and scrambled into his tiny bedroom, tossing his pillow off the mattress. Under it was a neatly-wrapped package, brown butcher block paper and simple twine in a perfect set of knots and a bow. It was probably the nicest wrapping he’d ever gotten. He swallowed a little at that, almost missing Josh’s teasing._

_“I suppose that answers my question of if you made it to your bed last night or if you simply fell asleep on the couch, studying.”_

_“I have a test,” he replied offhandedly as he traced his finger over the neat twine knot. “Can I open it?”_

_“If it won’t make you late.”_

_“I’ll run,” he promised, taking the time to sit down on the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a birthday present. When his last birthday had rolled around, he had only known Josh a month or so, and he’d felt silly to even bring it up. He was going to take the proper time to enjoy this one. He untied it carefully, knowing Josh was patiently on the other end of the line listening. He peeled back the paper and slowly opened the box, peering inside and inhaling softly._

_“Josh…”_

_“You know, there’s not a lot of men I’d trust enough to give them a place to put their gun,” Josh teased lightly, the sweet lilt to his voice becoming a little more pronounced as his words softened. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”_

_John’s heart leapt a little like it always did whenever Josh used the silly little endearment, and he carefully lifted the beautiful leather holster from its box. He could faintly smell the leather and polish of it as he brushed his fingers over the smooth material._

_“Thank you…” He swallowed again and was suddenly glad Josh was miles away so he could rub his hands over his eyes a little. “I love it.”_

_“I’m glad. You’ll have to show me how it looks on you when I get back. Now, don’t be late for your test.”_

_He swore and carefully packed away the present before he raced out the door, shoving his phone in his pocket, knowing Josh would only be amused at the sudden hang up._

_______________

  
He was pretty sure he didn’t fail the test. He’d studied hard the night before, knowing that while Josh would never berate him for flunking, John would instead get a little sigh and the feeling of a hand running through his hair.

_“You know you can do so much better than that, sweetheart.”_

God did that make it so much harder to fail, when someone had that kind of faith in you. He went to physical training then hit the showers, smiling at each of the happy birthday slaps on the back he got from a few of the guys he’d gotten to know more, turning down the offer of going out for birthday drinks from a couple even though he knew Josh would have encouraged it. John would rather go have a quiet drink at their favorite bar instead, though, and hope that Josh had a chance to call. Besides, he really didn’t want to have to explain fielding a call from his boyfriend and probably seeing most of those drink offers evaporate. He certainly wasn’t IN the closet, but he wasn’t exactly dumb enough to be leaping out of it while he was still in the academy.

_______________

_“So, you want to go out back?”_

_The man sitting beside him had been, frankly, hot as hell with his cloudy blue eyes and soft brown hair; plus, he had taken the time to buy him a drink and make small talk. He had been dressed cleanly, unstained cargo pants and a military-styled black jacket wrapped around him. His accent had been charming, and frankly those small facts added up to more than enough of an excuse to offer to blow the guy in the back alley when John was having a shitty day and had a couple of drinks in him. It wasn’t like he was gay just because he liked to suck dick. Guys liked it well enough and he’d made a couple of friends through it. It was more that; in those moments when he had a guy’s pants down and he was kneeling down on that filthy concrete, he knew he was finally getting someone’s undivided attention.  Fuck, he was lonely._

_The man had tilted his head curiously. “And what would we find out there?”_

_Damn, he was cute, those soft eyes, but John had been baffled by the question. No one ever asked; everyone just knew what John was offering. Maybe he’d read the guy wrong, maybe he was just straight and friendly. He had shaken his head to himself. No guy turned down a blowjob regardless of how much they liked tits; a mouth was a mouth._

_“A good time, I guess,” he had finally muttered, taking a quick drink from his glass to mask his uncertainty._

_“Ah.” The man had nodded in understanding and taken another sip from his own brew. “I find I am enjoying myself in here.”_

_Fine. He had grabbed his drink and stood. He had been able to see he wasn’t wanted there, but he couldn’t help but feel like he’d blown it somehow._

_A sturdy, graceful hand had suddenly cupped over his wrist, freezing him._

_“Why are you leaving? Did I offend you? I was enjoying our conversation.”_

_He had warily studied the man’s face, trying to read him like he’d been able to read so many other men in the bar before him, looking for the signs of lust in his eyes, the unspoken expression that would plainly tell John that he was a slut but they’d still be happy for five minutes of his time, anyway. There had been none of that there, though, just that patient sweetness he could barely understand then, but it had loosened his tightly closed-up heart just a little, and he had sat back down on his stool, knowing he had to look like a skittish deer. That was bad, in John’s experience; a doe-eyed boy turned respectable men into predators, but there had still been no change in the man as they sat and spoke for hours._

_John could not remember a single word of the conversation, but he could easily remember the man’s friendly smile and the way he couldn’t help leaning closer into his presence, smelling the man’s light cologne and the sweat from a long day’s work lingering on his body. It had been one of the best nights he’d ever had. He knew even then that he’d trade a hundred blowjobs in a filthy alley for just a few more short minutes of that conversation, and the way Josh had given him his undivided attention just for the sake of giving it, because he was actually interested in John, not just his mouth._

_The bar had closed down around them far too soon, and John had been reluctant to pull back._

_“Do you want to go back to my place?” he had finally offered. He’d never done that before. He knew how stupid of a risk it was, to be so quick to take a stranger back to his dingy little hole and bend over for him. It’d probably hurt like fuck and he didn’t even know if the guy was clean or not, but John knew he was a fucking mess. He knew it, and he had desperately wanted this attention to not go away._

_The man had smiled at his obvious invitation, and John had closed his eyes, leaning into the sudden gentle caress of fingers across his cheek. Finally, he could show the man how good he was, show him why he should come back and talk to John again, show him how grateful he was for just a night of feeling like he was special._

_“Will you be here tomorrow, sweetheart?” he had asked him breathily, still stroking his cheek._

_John had sucked in a breath and nodded. He’d been called a lot of things by the guys he’d been with, but ‘sweetheart’ had certainly never been one of them._

_“Then tell me your name, and I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?”_

_He had blinked in shock, just barely able to mumble out a “John” before those fingers gave his cheek a quick final stroke and his hand pulled back; John’s face had still tingled from the touch._

_“Josh,” he had introduced himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”_

_He had watched, dumbfounded, as the man smiled at him, gathered his coat, and left without another word. He went home that night and jerked his dick until it was raw, thinking of Josh’s sweet face, because he was still a fucking mess, but as he came to find out as the weeks passed and he got to know Josh, Josh didn’t mind some mess._

_______________

He hated to miss his sweet little John’s birthday, but he had tried his best, and the work simply could not wait. It was the most important thing he’d promised his brother, sworn to him that he would not allow John to be a cause for his slipping, and that he would stay true. His brother had been right to be wary, but he would give him no reason to doubt.

He could not say what had first made him notice John. No, that was perhaps a lie. He knew his blood had been calling to him from across the bar the second he saw that boy there, dressed in a grubby red t-shirt and jeans, cloaked in lonesomeness. He hadn’t been able to resist stroking a finger over one of the sharp blades carefully stitched into his coat; for emergencies only, he’d told himself when he did it. This sweet boy, though, oh God, he could almost taste how he would be for him, with his insides pouring out, his soft hair matted with blood.

He’d sat beside him and known how his brother would have to cleanse him for slipping, but then he saw those desperate lonely eyes fixate on him and his heart had ached, it had yearned for more than that boy’s spilled blood. There had been a gaping hole in him, a yawning chasm that opened up for him and he’d felt an old ache in himself, some part of his long-forgotten past creeping up on weak fingers, scrabbling across his own emptiness with a desire to fill that void.

He had returned to his brother that night, felt himself grabbed up in a punishing grip for even he knew his face was far too peaceful for his brother to believe that he had not fallen from his chosen path, but he had pleaded for a chance to speak, to explain, had shown him his clean fingers and his still-stitched blades and his brother had loosened his grip finally.

“Explain yourself then, Barsad.”

He had launched into his tale of the evening, still half confused himself over the events of the night, of the warmth he’d felt inside of what he had once thought could only be a cold pit.

“It is a risk,” his brother had finally spoken, his tone disapproving.

“I won’t speak anything to him,” Barsad had sworn, torn between his desires.

“If he makes you slip, I will be forced to rectify the situation.”

“He will not. I promise.”

“I do not like this risk.”

That had been all that had been said in the matter, and Barsad went to see his sweet John the next day, and the day after, loving how he soaked up the attention he was given, his confusion over Barsad not wishing to use and discard him. He was like a little sapling that had been left to whither, and now Barsad was so pleased to tend to him. It made him feel… normal. Like one day he might be able to just be normal with John, like one day he could actually be Josh.

For now, though, he needed the work, and the work kept him from slipping. Telling John he worked as a trucker was one of the few lies he’d told the other man, a matter of necessity. It made it plausible for him to disappear for days at a time, to need to be out of town suddenly as he was supposed to be now. The prey he was chasing, though, was proving very difficult to catch, and he found that by the evening he was once again in Gotham with little to show for it. Perhaps a break was needed, something to clear his mind; a sweetheart of his to wish a happy birthday.


	2. Chapter 2

John swirled his finger around the rim of his glass as he lounged back in the booth and smoked a cigarette. The bar they frequented together probably wouldn’t bat an eye if someone did a line of coke at the bar itself, so he wasn’t too worried about getting reprimanded. He’d brought his little hobby along with him, even though he knew Josh would have teased him for obsessing over it on his birthday, of all days.

He looked over the files and wished, not for the first time, that he was out of the academy and finally a cop, working his way towards detective so he could get real access to case files. Now, all he had was a binder of newspaper clippings, print outs, anything he could get a hold of, some through slightly less scrupulous means, about the current serial killer tearing through Gotham.

It was a hobby that had led him to join the academy to begin with. Well, that and Josh’s gentle urgings.

_“You are so much better than you are letting yourself be, John; find something that interests you, explore it.”_

In the end, detective made the most sense in a completely crazy way. If there was one thing he loved, it was to solve a puzzle. His brain always felt so satisfied when he discovered that missing piece that clicked into place. He knew it was a long shot, making detective wasn’t as easy as it looked on the television, but he knew if he just got his shot that he could do it.

He’d expected Josh to tease him when he finally told him he wanted to join the police academy. Let’s face it, John knew he probably had no business being a cop, but Josh had been so supportive and proud and, embarrassingly enough, was helping him pay for it in little ways that helped ease the burden off of John. He insisted on buying his books, bringing groceries to John when the fridge was bare, even though they weren’t living together. Not that John would mind them living together. It wasn’t like Josh wasn’t already spending as much time there as he could between his shifts. It just wasn’t feasible.

Josh lived with his brother; he’d explained it one night while they sat together in the booth John was sitting in now. They’d been seeing each other for almost a month then, well, seeing as in meeting up, John still hadn’t been sure if they were actually dating or what. It had all been incredibly confusing, as he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to consider himself gay yet. He just knew that the time he spent with Josh was the best he’d felt in a long time.

_“He is… unwell. I care for him.”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry,” he had said awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say in that sort of situation, didn’t know what was normal family etiquette.  Josh had just shrugged a little._

_“Otherwise I would ask if you would like to stay with me, sweetheart. It would be cheaper for you.”_

_John’s heart had kind of leapt up into his mouth at that, honestly. They were dating. They were totally dating. You didn’t look regretful over someone not being able to live with you if you weren’t dating, right? He had taken a chance and slid his hand over into Josh’s, relieved and almost giddy when Josh had laced their fingers together and given his hand a firm squeeze. He had held his hand all the way home, not caring how they looked. He’d never felt lighter, and he’d have taken the world on if they had a problem with it._

_They’d kissed that night, on the stoop leading to John’s apartment. It had caught him by surprise, but the second it happened he knew it was what he’d been hoping for since the moment Josh had caught his eye. It had been barely there at first, just the brush of Josh’s warm lips across his own, giving him a chance to pull back if he wanted. He didn’t want that at all, thank you._

_His hand had gone from holding Josh’s to grabbing onto his shoulder, fingers bunching into the soft, thick cloth of his jacket as he deepened the kiss, feeling himself melt just a little bit into Josh’s arms when they had wrapped around him and pressed to the small of his back. His beard had been tickling him, and it had made it hard to ignore that he was kissing a man. He had been surprised to find out that he didn’t mind at all. It had made it better, made it feel more real; he couldn’t just pretend it was a girl. Josh had been there, kissing him, because he liked him, liked him enough to just kiss him and not expect anything else, not just use him up and toss him out. He had smelled good, and, god, his lips felt so good against his. Josh’s tongue had given the barest of brushes against John’s lips before he had pulled back just a little to speak, breathing out over John’s lips, making them tingle even more._

_“Goodnight, sweetheart.”_

_He had been more than a little embarrassed at the groan he had let out, but Josh had just smiled and given him another kiss, that one quick and light before he had left him for the night. John absolutely had not gone up and jerked off all night thinking about Josh’s lips and running his fingers across his cheek where his beard had rubbed into him._

_He had also spent part of that night freaking out over the fact that he maybe kind of had a boyfriend then, so there._

They didn’t have to live together; John had decided that a while ago. He didn’t know how bad Josh’s brother was, but he liked that Josh was devoted enough to take care of him. Josh cared about his family, and even if John didn’t have any, himself, he could certainly appreciate that; it just made him all the better. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and went back to looking at the articles he’d printed out. He knew a lot of information was withheld from the public, obviously, but he had his notebook out, carefully scribbling down different ideas and theories. This killer hadn’t been in Gotham long, or, well, at least the police hadn’t made the connection between all of the bodies until now, so either the killer had moved there in the last few years or he had just gotten more brazen. Or maybe he’d lived there his whole life and something had triggered him to start killing. He carefully jotted down each thought with a question mark beside it.

The Back Alley Butcher. Journalists should never be allowed to name serial killers; it was really giving them too much creative freedom, clearly. He rolled his eyes and wrote down a few more notes, circling with his pen a couple of things that might be important.

His cellphone suddenly started singing “Happy Birthday” to him; it was a little startling. He had to laugh a little as he took a final drag from his cigarette and dropped the butt into his first empty glass. It had become a game, for Josh to slip off with his cellphone and change the ringtone on him. He’d done the same thing back to him a couple of times. Sometimes they’d change it to something silly, sometimes it was something they just liked.

Once, Josh had changed his ringtone to “It’s Raining Men,” and it had of course gone off in the middle of the locker room. That had been more than a little humiliating, and had gotten him some good natured teasing. Usually though, it was little messages in song, like this, happy birthday to him. He smiled and thumbed across the answer bar on his screen, wondering if Josh had noticed yet that John had slipped off with his phone and changed it to “Unforgettable” before he’d left the day before; god, he was getting sappy.

“Hey, you’re not too tired?” He didn’t want to keep him up if he needed to rest. The last thing he wanted was for him to fall asleep on the road.

“Not for you. I stopped at a bar, actually.” He could hear the smile in his voice and felt himself returning it even when it couldn’t be seen.

“Yeah? Are you going to have a birthday drink with me?”

“I was thinking about it.” He heard a soft “mmm” from the phone and raised an eyebrow as Josh continued. “I just found the sweetest looking boy sitting all by himself in a booth, though. I was thinking maybe I’d try to pick him up, instead, show him a good time.”

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a bit. Could he… He cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah? Going to bring him home to me?”

“I don’t know; he looks so busy peering over those folders…”

He felt himself break into a ridiculous grin then, and spun around in his spot, craning his neck around the bar, spotting Josh by the doorway, watching him with a twinkle in his eye. He practically knocked over his beer in an effort to stand up and greet him.

“You’re here!”

Josh looked pleased with himself, leaning in and stealing a kiss from him. “I was able to meet someone to take over the haul halfway through.”

“You should have told me, you jerk!”

“I wanted to surprise you. Happy birthday.”

“It fucking is now!” He grinned and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He fucking had the best boyfriend and that’s all there was to it. He kissed him again and had to take a breath before he let himself get stupidly giddy, not that that would scared Josh off now, he was stuck with him, but he hated seeming like a little kid around him. He was younger, yeah, but he was taller, damn it, and he wasn’t a kid at all. It was just that Josh made him feel like it was ok to relax, and he made him more than a little giddy at times.

Josh slipped his coat off and eased down into the corner of the booth, lifting an arm up in offering. John was more than happy to slide back down and settle against him, feeling that strong arm wrap over his shoulders. Just let any one of the fuckers in the bar say anything. He’d blown half of them, and he wasn’t afraid to name names, and Josh? He just didn’t care. He was always fearless about being out in the open, and it made John feel like he could be, too. He felt Josh’s fingers card through his hair, and rested his head against him, smiling as the man took a drink from his beer.

“This is how you were going to spend your birthday?”

He rolled his eyes, having known that was coming and there it was, in person. “You know I find it interesting.”

“Mhmm, looking at dead bodies and smoking.”

Shit. He’d forgotten the smoking.

“It was just a birthday cigarette…”

“Mhm, I’m sure your lungs will recognize that,” Josh chided lightly.

“You said you wouldn’t yell at me if I smoked,” he pointed out with a pout.

“I’m not yelling, am I? You just know I don’t like it, right? I’m not forcing you to quit.” He got a soft kiss to his temple that made him feel all warm. “We’ve all got our bad habits, right? I just worry.”

God, it was nice to have someone worry about him like that. He nodded a little, possibly hiding his face against Josh’s chest briefly as he did, embarrassed over being caught. “Just the one, I promise.” He’d throw the pack out later, in the bathroom. He didn’t like making Josh worry, and he really did only plan to smoke them because he’d thought he was going to be alone for his birthday.

“Alright, sweetheart. So, have you caught your first infamous serial killer yet?”

He grinned a little at that. “Not yet, but look at this stuff.” He slid his notepad over, trying not to feel like a kid handing their parents a piece of macaroni art. He was an adult, damn it. Josh took it seriously, so seriously. It was obvious he wasn’t just looking to humor him. His lips moved slightly as he read over John’s scribbled notes, and John just wanted to kiss him for it.

“It looks like you have some good stuff, here,” he finally said, returning the notebook to John and smiling. “You probably have more than the police do, and you’ve only got half the information.”

He curled against his chest a little more, propping his feet up and sighing. “Yeah, imagine if I had all of that information.”

“You’d catch him in no time I’m sure.”

“Or her, or them,” John pointed out happily.

“Or her, or them,” Barsad agreed. “Did you eat?”

“Does toast count?”

“At breakfast? No. It’s 8pm, John.”

“I got a little distracted…” he admitted guiltily. Maybe eating nothing but some toast then coming to the bar and drinking hadn’t been the healthiest idea, Josh usually had him eating better, but sometimes it was easy to forget when he had something else distracting him, like this case…

Josh just made a soft, exasperated noise and ran a hand down his neck, leaning to whisper close to his ear. “Well, you didn’t know to keep up your energy, now did you, sweetheart?”

John felt a hot flash of arousal bloom in his stomach. Oh god, how had he not realized that Josh being there meant birthday sex was definitely a go? “I really, really don’t need to eat.” Eating was time that could be better spent, and suddenly it seemed really stupid for them to be sitting in this bar when he was getting hard at the thought of them being back at home on his tiny bed, all tightly wound together, or maybe on the couch, even.

“Going to get a little something in you, first. Come on, we’ll see if there’s a bakery still open.”

Josh drained the last of his beer, which John was willing to forgive, given the circumstances. He gathered up his paperwork and notebook, tucking them carefully away into a folder.

“Did you even bring a coat?”

“Well, it wasn’t that cold out…”

“It’s snowing.” He felt Josh draping his coat over his shoulders.

“You’ll be cold,” he protested.

“Then I’ll just have to keep you close.”

John was pretty ok with that.


	3. Chapter 3

He snaked his arm around John’s waist, letting his thumb slip under the hem of his shirt to briefly stroke across the smooth warm skin there. He smiled at the way John’s breath quickened ever so slightly at the touch. He was so adorably easy to read. They left the bar together, and the cool air invigorated him. True to his word, he pulled John close and kept him there, stealing his warmth as they walked. They popped into a local bakery and, with some explaining on his part and an embarrassed groan from John, he soon had in his hands a ridiculously brightly frosted cupcake with a little candle in it.

“It’s our anniversary all over again,” he complained with no real venom to his tone. Truth be told, Barsad knew he was secretly delighted over the attention, just like he had been two months ago when their anniversary hit. He’d made sure to take him out to dinner, nothing fancy enough to make him uncomfortable, but something nice, and they’d eaten steak together then he’d laughed when the restaurant had brought out a little cake for them much to John’s pretend embarrassment. John loved the attention, lapped it up like a thirsty deer; it was precious, and it always amused Barsad how he felt he had to hide that from him.

He had the cupcake boxed up along with some ham and cheese croissants, tucking the package under his arm as they walked back to John’s apartment. It really was such a small thing, John deserved better, but Barsad knew that he couldn’t exactly just pay for him to have a bigger place. John would protest and wonder how he could afford it; such things were better left alone. Besides, there was something to be said sometimes for a small bed where the two occupants had to squish together tightly or risk falling off.

He remembered the first time he’d joined John on his bed. They had exchanged hand jobs a few times before, and John had been so sweet for them, whining and leaking into his hand as he held him against his chest, but both had been eager for more. John had offered on more than one occasion, but Barsad had wanted to be sure that it wasn’t being offered out of a sense of obligation. He wanted John to want it as much as he did, and he never wanted him to feel like he had to for Barsad to be happy with him. Barsad would have been perfectly happy just to be able to hold onto John for as long as he could. Sex was just another part of that, a good part, but not something he absolutely needed if it was going to risk something getting messed up. John just didn’t understand how much Barsad needed him.

_It had been a quiet night, and they’d spent it watching horror movies and eating leftover spaghetti while they were curled up together on John’s beaten-up old couch. Their plates were empty and set aside, though, and the movie had long been forgotten. John had crawled up into his lap more and was running a hand across his chest as they kissed._

_“Could we? Could we please, Josh?” he had breathed out hopefully. “I uhm, I bought condoms and—” He’d stopped, moaning softly when Barsad cupped his palm over his ass, squeezing it a bit through the denim. “Please… I really want you.”_

_Barsad had finally relented at that. “Alright, alright, sweetheart, if you’d really like that.”_

_He had known without him admitting it that John hadn’t done it before, not like that. It had been obvious he’d been treated piss-poorly before they had met. He’d gone down on him only a few days prior, and John had nearly come apart at the seams, clutching his hair and spilling in moments, clearly the first time he’d ever been on the receiving end of a blowjob. It had made Josh angry that no one had ever bothered to give him one, that his sweetheart had only been used and abused before, and maybe subjected to a quick unsatisfactory hand job as a show of ‘thanks.’  He deserved so much more than that, and he had been going to show him how good his body could feel._

_John had nodded eagerly. “Yeah, come on.”_

_They’d stumbled into the small room, arms wrapped around each other, John eagerly licking into his mouth, their tongues playing at each other, his hand slipping under his shirt to feel up his chest._

_“And you worry about me,” John had muttered, fingering over a long gash of a scar that ran just under his nipple to his hip._

_“I grew up on a farm; accidents happened a lot,” he had explained, feeling a little badly about the lie, but his body was heavily scarred so he needed to tell him something as he stripped off his shirt. They had touched for a while, and Barsad had enjoyed stripping off John’s threadbare t-shirt and pushing him to lie back on the bed, toying with his nipples until he squirmed and his jeans were tented._

_“You look so good, sweetheart,” He’d encouraged as he sat on the edge of the bed, getting a pleasured sigh as he palmed John through his jeans, squeezing at him through the thick material, feeling him swell under his fingertips. John had impatiently worked them open and Barsad chuckled, helping him pull them and the rest of his clothing off until he was bare under him._

_“You’ve got too many clothes on,” John had complained and pulled at his pants hem._

_“Alright, alright.” He had laughed and stripped down with him then laid out over him, loving how it felt when their skin touched together. John was so slender, he did not have the same kind of lean muscles Barsad had gained over the years through necessity. However, he was still strong, and Barsad had nuzzled into him. He would have been happy for nothing more than to curl up and hold onto John through the night, but John had needed something else then, and Barsad couldn’t have said he wouldn’t have found that just as nice too._

_The bed had creaked as he moved down it and guided John onto his belly. “Come on, let me do the work, ok, sweetheart? I just want you to be able to relax and enjoy. Where’s your lube, hmm?”_

_John had grabbed his pillow and tucked his face against it. Barsad could see the tint of red flushing over him then, part arousal, part shyness that John would never admit. “It’s in the dresser drawer.”_

_He had nodded and left the bed, going to rummage around in John’s sock drawer, chuckling suddenly when he found the bottle of lubricant, a box of condoms, and a slightly more tucked away toy. “Were you practicing for me?”_

_That had gotten him a pillow thrown at his head. He’d ducked it and laughed as John turned his head away from him. He had walked back and placed a hand on his back, feeling it tense a bit. “What’s wrong hm?”_

_“I just… I didn’t use it. I was going to… I got nervous.”_

_“You haven’t done it before, have you, sweetheart?”_

_That had gotten a curt little headshake, John’s body tightening up more. “Look, I’m not a kid, I can handle it.”_

_“John, I never said you couldn’t… and it was kind of obvious you hadn’t.”_

_“…Asshole.” It had been voiced plaintively, and Barsad had laughed and patted his back._

_“Still want to?”_

_“Yeah… just…”_

_“I will be careful, I promise, and if you say stop we will stop immediately.”  He had rubbed the back of his neck gently when he was given a quick nod of affirmation._

_He had taken his time, crawling behind John again onto the narrow bed and taking the time to rub over him, delighting in the way he slowly relaxed for him as he’d rubbed into his skin. He had kneaded his fingers into the muscles of his legs then stroked over his ass slowly until John sighed, eventually sounding so relaxed he was almost sleepy. Only then had Barsad wet his fingers with slick and brought them to John’s ass, letting them warm before he’d run them over it, circling them along the tight ring of muscles John had secreted away._

_John had squirmed and Barsad had kept a hand on the small on his back, massaging him there as he had stroked slow, lazy circles against his pucker, feeling it tighten and relax in little nervous clenches. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just breathe for me and relax, you know I would never hurt you. We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to. Just relax and tell me how it feels, alright?”_

_He had gotten a tiny nod and had been able to feel John’s back raise up from the deep breath he sucked in. “Feels funny, but kind of good. When are you gonna put your fingers in?” It had been asked in a nervous but eager rush.  
_

_“Not until you are ready,” he had replied patiently. “And do not say you are; I can feel that you’re not.”_

_He had smiled at the little ‘hmph’ that had gotten him and had continued to stroke, caressing over John’s hole, pressing the tip of his finger into the muscles and rubbing patiently until he felt them begin to go lax and John’s breathing came a little faster. “You’re sensitive here,” he had observed quietly._

_John’s fingers had gripped at his pillowcase a little and he’d nodded wordlessly, sucking in a quick breath when Barsad slowly worked a finger into him. He had waited for him to constrict against the intrusion, but he had taken it remarkably well, only tightening a little, nothing Barsad’s rubbing against the small of his back couldn’t loosen from him. He had fingered him open gently, first with one finger, but adding more when John’s body accepted them, pausing to relubricate each finger as needed until he had been carefully twisting three fingers into John’s welcoming body, a pool of slippery lube dripping down Johns thighs as he had let out muted little cries of pleasure whenever Barsad had thrust his fingers or twisted them inside in a way that opened him further or pushed against the sensitive nerves inside._

_“Beautiful, John; you look so beautiful,” he had praised breathlessly. His own cock had been hard against his belly and practically twitching in eagerness as he’d watched his squirming, how his ass was worked open then into something that would be lovely to slip inside of, and how each squirm John had given had made him either grind what must have been quite an eager erection into the bed sheets or push his hole back at Barsad’s fingers more. “That’s it, are you ready?”_

_“Yes, Jesus Christ, please, Josh, please; I want you,” John had spoken, muffled by the way his face had been crushed into the pillow. Barsad hadn’t minded; if it had made him feel more comfortable, he could have kept his face there the whole time. He’d already known that face by heart, and he could have just as easily pictured how it would look then. He had extracted his fingers from the sticky wet heat, earning a soft protest that he had ignored since he had only been pausing to open a foil package and roll a condom onto his own length before slicking some lube over himself, wanting to be as cautious as possible. He had pressed his chest into John’s back, slotting them together and lining his cock up with his ass carefully, kissing his neck tenderly as he had nudged himself against the worked open ring._

_“Easy for me now, John, ok? Take a long breath and blow it out nice and slow.”_

_He had smiled as the order had been obeyed without question, then he had pressed in, not stopping so John’s body wouldn’t have a chance to try and tighten against him,  groaning at how wonderful and hot John had felt inside, the way his wet heat had clung to him._

_“God, that’s so good, sweetheart; you’re so good inside.” He had rubbed his lips against John’s ear, hearing the shaky breaths he had been taking as he had lowered himself against him, putting most of his weight onto his body, trapping him neatly under him. “Is that ok?”_

_“Y-yeah, I… you, w-wow.” The words had been spoken with a tremor to his tone. “Jesus I thought it'd hurt a lot. I mean, it does a little but it's not bad and you just… you make me feel full and your body on mine... wow.” It had been said shyly._

_“Just you wait; it’s going to be better,” He’d promised. He had waited for John to adjust around him more before he had begun to rock his hips, feeling the shocked noise he had pulled from John even more than he had heard it. “There you go, sweetheart. God, you feel good inside. Just relax for me.”_

_He had rocked into him, reluctant to really pull much out of that wonderful tightness, instead opting to grind into him, giving short thrusts that had pushed John into the mattress more, had forced his hips and cock to grind into the bedding. “Is that good? Do you like that?”_

_“I-I y-yes!” The words had been choked out and John had been gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles had been going white. “I want to come so bad,” he had admitted in a harsh whisper. “God, I need to come.”_

_“If you don’t from this, I won’t stop touching you until you do,” he had promised. He would have never left John unsatisfied like that. It apparently hadn’t been necessary, however. John had begun to try to push up at him as much as he could; it had felt wonderful and it had been making John moan louder so he let him, raising up a bit so John could push back onto his cock, could roll his hips experimentally, learning how to move them to get the most pleasure from it. It had been so precious to watch him learn how to move so that Barsad’s cock ground out against his prostate. John had had his head turned then, and Barsad had been able to see his lip quiver slightly when he’d made that discovery, how he’d bitten into his bottom lip and jerked back greedily to try to repeat the motion. He was a clever boy and had managed it again, then a few more thrusts until suddenly he had been thrashing under him, sobbing out, and Barsad had smiled proudly that he had managed to find his own release from his first time, his cock barely touched._

_“That’s good, sweetheart; you did so good.” He had kissed his John’s sweaty cheek, loving the flush there and the tired smile he had gotten._

_“Nn… did you?”_

_“Almost; if you’re sore, I can pull out.”_

_He had gotten a headshake and so he continued, watching carefully but letting himself enjoy the actions until he had felt his orgasm creeping close and he had let go with a low moan, relaxing and lowering himself onto John’s body again._

_“Nmph… heavy… but don’t move,” he’d added quickly, his words a little slurred._

_Barsad had not had much intention of moving for a bit, but he had smiled and brushed John’s hair out of his eyes. “Did you enjoy that?”_

_“Mhm, fucking amazing.”_

They had fallen asleep together not long after. Barsad had barely remembered to pull out and toss away the used rubber. It had been the first time he had spent the night, and he’d never felt so normal before in his life. After that, he spent as much time as he could with John, even more than before, enough that he knew his brother was perhaps growing weary of it, but John was the healthiest addiction Barsad had ever had, and even his brother could not deny that he was keeping him from slipping off the path.


	4. Chapter 4

He lit the little candle and softly sang happy birthday to John, having to take a moment to really recall the words.  He wasn’t sure he had ever really sung the song before then. John looked so pleased, ducking his head a little.

“You didn’t have to sing.”

“Of course I did.”

John rolled his eyes and leaned in close, pursing his lips to blow out the flame. Barsad leaned against the counter and deftly opened the wrapping around the little cake for him before handing over the treat, smiling when John sank his teeth into the piled-high icing. His tongue peeked out to snag up a little more of the brightly tinted sprinkles.

“Want some?” he asked with his mouth full.

Barsad shook his head at the offer, stealing a kiss from sugar coated lips before he bit into one of the boxed croissants. “All yours. So, what does the birthday boy want to do tonight?”

He received a pause then a rather heated look at that, one that made his own body rise in response. He had been feeling on edge from losing sight of his quarry that evening. It had been over a week of careful build up, and nearly seventeen days since his last righteous kill. He could feel his tensions creeping under the surface of his skin, burrowing into the tendon and muscle like sickly little worms, eating him up.

John’s presence calmed him, though. His tightness always eased at the beautiful smiles and little grins he knew were only for him. John never gave anyone else a real smile, and the first one Barsad had received from him had cemented for him the fact that he was hopelessly lost when it came to John. Any urges he felt were so much less, so faint in John’s presence. It was a relief to know that his John never ignited a twitch in them. His inner needs were what had made him initially spot John, but in his heart he knew John was always safe with him.

He still felt less at ease now, though, and right now when he was being eyed seductively he realized just how wonderful it would be to lose himself in the taste of John’s skin, the thrill of sharing pleasure with him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you want,” he teased softly. “Finish your cupcake.”

He got a grin, and then groaned softly at the rather pointed lick John trailed over the bits of frosting that clung to his fingertips with his now brightly-tinted tongue. He made him eat a croissant, too, and then take a shower for good measure despite John’s protests, wanting to give the food a chance to settle in. John was honestly terrible at taking care of himself at times, and so Barsad tried to make sure to do it for him with little things like making sure he showered and didn’t give himself a belly ache by eating only a cupcake and toast all day.

While John washed up, Barsad peered through his little hobby folder, knowing it wouldn’t be minded. It was strange to be reading about the kills through the eyes of police, journalists, and the tiny scribbled notes in John’s notebook. God, his boy was brilliant, methodical in his careful notes. He was so proud of the way John was able to so perfectly analyze and discard the unimportant parts of information in front of him, the parts that most investigators mulled over for weeks. Not John, though; he always somehow picked up on the little things, the seemingly trivial and overlooked things that others missed. Then he would contemplate over them, explore them increasingly.

He was going to make a brilliant detective one day. Barsad was pleased with that. He wanted John to excel, wanted him to find something in life that made him happy. It felt wrong to misguide him when he was doing so very well, but this was one case Barsad could not let John solve. There would be others John would figure out, but not this. He memorized the notes, keeping track of what information he would need to share with his brother, what tactics would have to change to break any pattern that might be emerging. He tucked away the folder contents nearly as John exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His damp hair curled slightly against his temples and he was wrapped up only in a towel, dripping lightly onto the carpet.

He smiled, setting the folder on the coffee table and walking over. “Looks like I get a present to unwrap, too, don’t I?” He wrapped his arms around John’s wet body and tucked his face into the crook of his neck, tasting the clean skin as he tugged at the towel so that it pooled around John’s ankles.

_______________

John shivered as Josh lapped up a water droplet that dangled from his ear and then sucked lightly at his earlobe. How did he always manage to end up completely naked before Josh? He pulled at the bottom of the other man’s shirt, voicing the unfairness of this out loud. He got a short laugh and an apology before Josh pulled his shirt off and tossed it lightly aside.

John ran a hand down his side, always a little mesmerized by the scarring on Josh’s body. He looked like he’d been torn to pieces and stitched back together; burns, cuts, scrapes, the raised up pinkish skin was everywhere, gnarled and still red in places, faded and as light and silver as a spider’s thread in others. John knew, even if Josh never talked about it, that Josh had had a tough time growing up, too, some of the scars were too old looking for it not to be true, and besides, John would know, wouldn’t he? But where John’s scars were all deep inside, etched over his heart, his soul, his bones, in an angry red, Josh’s scars were just beneath the surface of his clothing, so much more visible.

It kind of made it all the more amazing to John that Josh had been subjected to so much violence but had never so much as raised his voice at him, not even when John was in a rage and he couldn’t keep his mask on anymore, allowing it to bubble out of him. He just didn’t have nearly that kind of impulse control. He had thought their first fight would be the last one, where Josh would finally see what John tried to keep bottled up so tight inside until it spilled out.

_God knows what they’d even been arguing about, but it hadn’t mattered. He had lost his temper more from the stress of trying to keep it in check all of the time than anything else. The fight itself ended up being confusing and one-sided. Josh had sat quietly, patiently waiting for John to stop yelling and throwing stuff around the room, no longer arguing but clearly not having changed his opinion on the matter which had infuriated John all the more until he’d collapsed on the couch beside him, spent and bitter, closing his eyes and quietly waiting for Josh to realize that he couldn’t take John’s level of crazy and leave._

_He had gotten a blanket tucked around him instead._

_“Go to sleep, sweetheart; this is gonna seem silly in the morning.”_

_“Fuck you,” he had grated out in irritation, head pounding and emotions feeling ripped up and raw even though he knew it was true._

_“Do you want me to stay?”_

_He had nodded frantically and grabbed for his hand. Josh had simply squeezed it lightly and curled up beside him on the couch. “Rest, then.”_

So he had, and had indeed woken up feeling like an idiot, apologizing to Josh who was still there, who was fucking still THERE even after he had a blow up, giving him a kiss and telling him to calm down because he wasn’t going to go anywhere over a temper tantrum. Maybe that’s when he kind of realized he was hopelessly in deep with this Josh. Maybe that he was kind of in love with him. Josh who was sweet and gentle and never angry with him and had a lifetime of scars written across his skin that told him that he had gotten none of that himself but he was giving it to John.

He closed his eyes when Josh nuzzled into his neck more, sighing when he trailed his tongue across the tendon and bit into it lightly. “So do I really get whatever I want for my birthday?”

A small breath of air brushed over his drying skin as Josh chuckled. “I suppose, within reason.”

“Then I want you on the couch,” he smirked.

Josh laughed more. “You want me to bend over it and wiggle for you?”

He groaned. Oh, fuck. “God. I know you’re joking, but yeah, kinda, maybe?”

Josh pulled back and flashed him a rather cheeky grin and slid out of his pants. “Gotta give the birthday boy what he wants, right?”

John scrambled off to the bedroom to find the lube so he could go have his wicked way with his boyfriend. He had more than a few ideas for what he would like from Josh and he spent the next hour or so making sure he got all of his birthday wishes.

John felt delightfully muzzy as he was tucked up close to Josh—half buried under him, really—on his belly with Josh partly draped over his back, his hand curled around his shoulder. The bed was small, so it had kind of ended up being their usual position, one that John loved because he got to feel all of that warm skin pinning him down onto the bed, safe and sound.

Josh had been true to his word and had indeed given John exactly what he wanted for the remainder of his birthday night: stretching himself open with his own fingers so that John could watch; sighing and telling him how good he felt when John slipped into him; rocking back at him as John couldn’t resist pinning him down to the couch by the back of his neck, gasping at how good Josh felt inside, trying to fuck into him as deeply as possible before he finally lost it. He finally ended it by having Josh sit back on the couch, and sucked hungrily at him, making him finish in his mouth so he could taste him, swallow him down. It had been more than a great way to spend the night, and now John just wanted to go to sleep feeling well-fucked and able to sleep in because tomorrow began the weekend.

He let his eyes unfocus, soaking in the feeling of Josh rubbing little circles on his shoulder, knowing that he was half asleep, too. Soft violin music drifted from the living room, barely able to be heard. Josh stiffened slightly above him, and John bit back a groan of disappointment. It was Josh’s brother’s ringtone and he knew, he totally understood that Josh had to go answer it, but that didn’t make it much better. He got a kiss of apology to the back of his neck as Josh’s weight left his body. At least he got to watch him walk away naked, though, eying him as he bent over to pick up his discarded pants and fish around in the pocket for his phone. Then he disappeared into the bathroom for a conversation too low for John to hear, not that he cared. It was family stuff; he was guessing it was private.

When Josh came out of the bathroom, John looked at his apologetic face and groaned. “You have to go, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid so. Family emergency.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Josh shook his head, not that John expected anything else. Josh barely talked about his family, which was fair because John absolutely never talked about his, or his lack thereof. It was just an unspoken ‘ask no questions’ area between both of them. John didn’t even know if Josh’s family knew he had a boyfriend or if he was gay. Really, it was none of his business, even though he was a little curious.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart; wanted to spend the night with you.” Josh ran a hand down his back and John arched up into it a little, sighing.

“It’s ok, can’t help it, right? I didn’t even think I was gonna get to see you today.” He returned the kiss Josh ducked down to give him, running his fingers through the man’s beard. “You gonna be around tomorrow?”

“We’ll see, I’ll try, ok?”


	5. Chapter 5

He nodded in satisfaction and stole another kiss before Josh finished dressing and left, locking the door to the apartment behind him with the key John had given him ages ago. He was tempted to roll back over and go to sleep, he’d been so tired just a few moments ago, but that was with Josh’s warmth pressing into him and a blanket just couldn’t give him that. He sat up finally, tugged on a pair of pants and padded into the living room, glancing at the tiny lit up clock by the TV. It was barely even eleven, which was hours before he usually got to bed unless Josh was there persuading him to sleep.

He flopped onto the couch and grabbed his folder, turning on the TV to see if here were any new stories. Josh had been looking at his notes; he smiled at that, and the little pencil marks circling where Josh thought he had a good idea. He always made sure to do it in pencil in case John disagreed and wanted to erase it.

The Back Alley Butcher, what a stupid name. The perpetrator didn’t even do the killings in a back alley, that was just where the bodies had been turning up, neatly dismembered and tucked into thick black trash bags, chucked into a dumpster. Honestly, the first body turning up had been an accident, some homeless guy trash-picking and finding a lot more than he had bargained for. Now that people were keeping a morbid eye out, the police had racked up eleven different bodies over the past year or so. John figured there were probably a hell of a lot more out there that just weren’t being found and instead were making their way into the city dump.

There didn’t seem to be any connection to the victims which was puzzling to John. The perpetrator seemed to be focused, neat and careful, organized; it didn’t make sense for his victims to be chosen at random, but John wasn’t seeing any sort of relationship between them. He’d dug into the personal information of them all, and they all had different jobs, different races, different genders and ages, were even from different areas of the city, some not even in the city at all; one or two had been out-of-staters who happened to have been visiting the area, but that idea too lead to a dead end because plenty of them were regular Gothamites. There had to be something, though; this killer was just too organized for it to be random.

Maybe if he could at least figure out WHERE the killings were taking place… He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, trying to work out what he knew about the bodies. It would need to be somewhere private, obviously, somewhere quiet, maybe? It would depend on if the killer did something to keep the victims quiet or not, and he didn’t have access to things like toxicology reports to know if they were drugged or not. It couldn’t be a regular house, or an apartment for that matter, no one was smooth enough to get all of those different types of victims up into their apartment alone to off them, and besides, the mess. No, it had to be something more discreet, which left warehouses, abandoned buildings, and any places that no one would go into at night, because John was sure it was happening at night—everything bad happened at night.

He remembered the cigarettes in his pocket suddenly. Well… He had got them because he couldn’t be with Josh on his birthday, and, technically, it was still his birthday. He grabbed his folder and tossed on his coat, climbing out to the tiny fire escape. It was a rusted old thing, just large enough that John had long ago stuck a little stool out into it which he liked to sit on some nights and watch the sky. He plopped down and lit a cigarette, sucking in a lungful of smoke as he settled back down with his papers. It was a brighter than usual night, and he was able to see just fine as he combed over a map of Gotham city. He knew his city better than anyone, so he went over the map inch by inch and marked off each warehouse, each abandoned building, any place in the city that someone could drag a victim off to and carve them to pieces. Fuck, there were a shitload of places.

He had the advantage, though. He knew more about the city’s homeless than probably anyone on the force did; hell, he’d been part of it on more than one occasion after he’d aged out of St. Swithin’s and  before he had been able to settle down and get work. He knew a lot of the guys out there, a lot of the kids out there, too, and he knew what kinds of places they liked to stay in. He used that to work out a grid, and was able to knock off huge sections of possibilities. He was pretty sure the police hadn’t done that, and he couldn’t help feeling a little smug about it. It still left a lot of places, some he knocked off out of pure gut instinct until he had something workable. There were a lot of places close by actually, that’s what happened when you didn’t exactly live in the best neighborhood, and a lot of it was abandoned.

He stretched and ground out his cigarette, then looked down at the pile of butts around him and realized he’d somehow managed to smoke the rest of his mostly full pack while he worked. There was definitely a reason Josh would like him to quit. He was getting some really good work done, though, and they helped him think. He pulled out his phone to check the time; one AM. The corner store would still be open and, really, it was still his birthday if he hadn’t gone to sleep yet, which he was feeling too hyped up now to do... He tucked his work into his jacket and zipped it up securely before he climbed down the fire escape. Josh didn’t have to know and, hey, birthday.

He bought a pack of smokes and a coffee, because coffee, and gave the cashier a fake smile when he checked him for ID; jerkoff knew exactly who he was, he was a bar regular and he certainly hadn’t been checking if he was over 18 when he’d gone into the back alley with him. He ducked back into the streets and lit up, leaning against the wall. God, he missed smoking, but no, bad habit, expensive, disappointed-Josh; he knew it wasn’t worth it, but he’d damn well let himself enjoy it tonight.

He pulled out the folder and looked it over. Some of the places were close by, really close, and he wondered how easy they’d be to get into… It wouldn’t hurt to check them out; it wasn’t like John didn’t know the streets, didn’t know about taking shelter in dilapidated housing. He could slip in and look for signs of inhabitance and slip back out. It’d be better to do it at night anyway so that no one saw to ask questions, and besides, he was feeling wired now and not really ready to go back to his apartment. If nothing else, a walk in the cool air would do him good.

There was a light dusting of snow on his jacket by now, but it wasn’t enough to stick on the ground so he knew he wasn’t leaving footprints as he walked. The first two buildings, one an abandoned house, one an old dilapidated church, had been a bust. They had been filled with debris that had clearly not been moved in ages judging by the soggy air and the rust stains that coated everything. The third, another shuttered-up house, he couldn’t have gotten into if he tried, so he assumed a killer wasn’t going to be able to drag a victim into it. He left an old grocery shop when he found it had the same problem. Well, it wasn’t like he’d expected to find much, there were one or two places left that he could check out to slake his curiosity and call it a night. He was actually getting a little tired now anyway, and he wanted to be able to wake up and go out if Josh was able to meet with him, not lie in bed all day, tempting as it sounded.

He studied the empty warehouse he was standing in front of. The doors looked locked up pretty tight, and he inspected the chains locking them carefully. They were new, so new that they stuck out against the rusty handles they locked together. Maybe that was important? He felt a little tingle up his spine at the thought that maybe he was onto something. How to get in, though… He eyed a bit of scaffolding that was built up against the window. Well. Police academy psychical training was about to come in handy. He gripped onto the corroded metal and carefully scaled up it, trying not to think about when his last tetanus shot had been when his palm scraped over a rusty nail. He didn’t want to have to explain to Josh why he had to go to the doctor’s tomorrow instead of to the park or something.

He made it up to the window; it was blacked out, probably from soot in the air and years of not being cleaned. He rubbed his fingers over it.

Except that it looked like paint, like they had been painted black from the inside.

He pried at the window carefully, grinning when he got it to open mostly soundlessly, enough that it wouldn’t be noticed with the nighttime noises of Gotham, anyway. He peered in, but it was too dark to see anything right away beyond the vastness of the warehouse interior. When his eyes adjusted, he could see machinery, so much machinery inside, along with crates that, from his topside view, blocked a lot of the view of the floor level along with making the entire warehouse look more like a giant maze. He needed to get inside to get a better look.

He thought about calling the police for maybe two seconds before he climbed inside onto the platform that seemed to wrap around the wall of the building, giving it a flimsy second floor. What was he going to tell them, though? _“Hey guys, new chains on an old warehouse, definitely a killer’s lair.”_ There was no need to look like an idiot here. There was probably a reasonable explanation for it; John just needed to have a look around to rule out the possibility.

His heart was beating awfully fast, though.

He crept quietly, watching his step as he worked his way down the stairs, trying to keep them from creaking as much as possible before his feet touched down onto rough concrete. It was quiet, though; the air felt very still. Despite the blacked out windows, light still filtered in through tiny cracks on the roof and walls so that if he squinted he could make out shadows and forms in front of him, those piled of crates and bits of metal all around. He didn’t want to have to resort to using his phone as a flashlight, that was just asking to be spotted, not that anyone was here.

There was no one here at all. He repeated that fact to his brain, keeping his breath slow and even. There was no need to get worked up. There was no one here.

 

There was a sound.

 

A soft plop. The rustle of plastic.

 

This was a bad idea.

 

It could have come from outside. He had to know. He was going to be a cop, wasn’t he? It was just from the outside. There wasn’t anyone in here. He would just look for the sound, see that it was an animal nesting, a bird rustling, then leave and cross this place off of his list. He made his way past the crates, through the giant rusted machinery and towards the center of the warehouse, touching his hand lightly over the boxes as he went to keep himself steady, grounded. He was just going to check this place off his list.

It was so quiet. The only noise he could hear now was the slight pounding in his ears.

 

He was being ridiculous.

 

His foot stepped in something wet.

 

Plop. Rustle.

 

Rain water. It was just rain water.

 

How could there been rainwater here, near the center of the warehouse, when the ground had been dry all along the perimeter where it would most likely leak in?

 

Plop. Rustle.

 

Just an animal. Just rainwater.

 

He brought his foot up to run his shaking finger over the sole of his shoe. It came back sticky, warm.

 

Not rainwater. Not an animal.

 

His knees went weak as all of the blood rushed up to his head.

 

Plop. Rustle.

 

Run. Run. Run, stupid. So fucking stupid.

 

He didn’t run. Running made noise. _Running made noise_ , he told himself over and against again as he ever so carefully lowered his foot down.

He walked, slowly, so slowly, forcing the pants that wanted to rip out of his lungs into low, even breaths, no sounds, no sounds. He was so stupid. Why had he ever thought this would be a good idea? He was so panicked his vision was playing tricks on him; it was harder to focus on the floor in front of him.

 

Where was he? He couldn’t find the stairs.

 

Plop. Rustle.

 

Don’t panic. Oh, God, don’t panic. Breathe.

 

Plop. Rustle.

 

Scrape.

 

In his blind terror, he’d missed the metal sheeting on the floor; his foot had kicked it against the rough floor, and its horrible scraping noise echoed through the warehouse. He froze.

 

Rustle.

 

Footsteps.

 

He ran.

 

Jesus, Jesus Christ. He could hear those footsteps running after him. He couldn’t find the stairs, where had the fucking stairs gone? His shoes slapped down onto the concrete, he couldn’t care about noise now, he just had to get the fuck out of there.

Somehow, somehow he took a wrong turn, then another, and then another until he was racing around in circles, getting deeper and deeper into the maze until he emerged at the center of the warehouse where there was a tarp, and a tiny light emanating from a lantern balanced on it.

 

A body.

 

No, not even a body, anymore; just parts, parts everywhere, dripping and filling the air with a coppery blood tang. A head, jaw open and twisted into a silent scream, eyes open, no, eyes gone, nowhere in those sockets. He was going to die. He was going to fucking die. Those footsteps were so close. They knew the maze, John didn’t.

He stumbled past those parts, feeling the vomit trying to gush out of his mouth in reflex, but there wasn’t any fucking time to stop and puke. He swallowed and ran. He felt blind now, the lantern light had made his eyes unfocused again as he ran through the maze of crates. He couldn't see. He couldn't fucking see anything.

His hand caught onto a rusty pole. Oh, thank Christ. Stairs. He could get upstairs. This wasn’t the way he’d come in, but he could get up them and run around the perimeter to the windows. He raced up them, tripping over debris, his hands smacking down onto worn-through rust spots as he pushed up to stand again. He couldn’t hear the footsteps, he was being too loud, but he didn’t know if that was good or bad. He made it to the top of the stairs and ran again.

The floor was too thin, time had worn sheet metal into rusty paper, and it crumpled beneath John’s feet. He screamed as he fell through the floor, fell down into a dark abyss. His body scraped along the metal and then he was in the air. He heard the snap before he felt it, sickening as his leg bone burst out of his body, blood rushing up around it, gushing up over his hands as he grabbed at it. He screamed again at the pain. He couldn’t move, his body was paralyzed with fear and shock and pain and this was just too much. He couldn’t do it anymore.

He could hear running, now. This was going to be over. This was going to be over and Josh was going to be so sad. He wanted to say goodbye. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it across the floor, the bright light of it burning his eyes. The police would never come in time, it was selfish; he should call anyway and tell them what he could before he died, but he was too selfish. He needed to hear Josh’s voice one more time. His fingers were wet with blood, and it took a moment for the screen to recognize them, but it was dialing. He could hear the soft tone as he clung to the phone, held it up to his ear and prayed Josh would pick up before those footsteps found him.

 

_“Unforgettable… that’s what you are…”_

He froze; his fingers shook.

 

_“Unforgettable… though near or far…”_

No. No. No. Oh, God. Had the body been Josh? Josh was dead? He bit back a sob. He couldn’t, he couldn’t do this.

 

_“Like a song of love that clings to me… How the thought of you does things to me…”_

There was a shadow, now, to those footsteps, John’s vision was so dim now, but he could see it there, coming closer, closer, the barest glint of a knife shining from the light of his phone. He threw it violently at the figure and screamed.

 

“YOU BASTARD, YOU BASTARD, YOU KILLED HIM, YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!”

 

_“Never before has someone been more…”_

He tried to drag himself up, choking on the pain from it. He just wanted to go down fighting, he needed to do that for Josh, but he couldn’t stand.

 

_“That's why, darling, it's incredible… That someone so unforgettable…”_

He screamed out his rage; he wished it was enough to make him stand up, but God, it hurt so fucking bad. The figure was closer, so fucking close now. It had been moving slowly, but when John screamed it ran. It ran so it could make him stop screaming. The knife was tossed aside. John thrashed out in panic, in rage and pain when quick, blood-slicked hands grabbed up his face.

 

“Oh… Oh, sweetheart, what have you done to yourself?”

 

_“Thinks that I am unforgettable, too…”_

Josh. Josh. He wasn’t dead. Josh was there and shushing him gently, sounding so worried. John choked on his relief, crying and grabbing onto him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, sweetheart. Oh, John, your leg…”

“Oh God, I thought you were dead!”

“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t understand, of course Josh wouldn’t hurt him. He was going to make this ok and get them out of here, away from the killer.

Except there was only Josh here, only Josh, and in that moment, when he realized that, his entire world crumbled around him.

“No, No, NO!” He pushed at him, beat his fists against the slick plastic raincoat that Josh was wearing.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, John; I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.” His weakening shoves where brushed aside and his hands with cupped over. “I would never hurt you, John.”

He couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand anything that was happening. Everything was so broken, his leg, his body, his heart. There were lips pressing against his forehead, against his cheek, all over his face, desperate little kisses.

“John, John, I would never hurt you, sweetheart, never you, I promise. I love you. I love you so much, ok? Just hold on for me.”

The voice was so blurry and far away sounding. Even in the darkness of the warehouse, he could tell his vision was tunneling. He needed Josh. He felt his arm being lifted up over a familiar shoulder and he wrapped his other arm around him weakly, clung to him and screamed out in pain as he was pulled up onto his non broken leg, dragged out, nearly passing out each time his snapped leg caught on a piece of debris.

“Josh, Josh,” he whimpered; he couldn’t help it. It just hurt so bad, everything inside and out hurt so fucking bad.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, gonna get you to the hospital,” Josh promised. His voice still sounded so far away, but there was panic in it, and John felt bad about making him worry like he always did. He mumbled out an apology as he heard a car door open and felt himself being piled into it. He didn’t know Josh even had a car. He hissed when his foot was jostled and that was just it, his body had taken all it could. He felt the tunnel around him closing in and his mind blacked out.


	6. Chapter 6

What was he going to do? His fingers trembled, and he dropped the keys several times before he cursed and was able to fit them into the ignition, turning the car on. John needed a hospital. That was the most important thing. His leg was a wreck, and who knows what else a fall from that high had done to him. What if he had gotten a concussion? What if he was bleeding internally?

His mind raced with worry, but in the back of it were darker thoughts creeping in as he sped along the streets. What was he going to do? He was going to lose John. John, oh god, he loved him so much and now he knew, and he wouldn’t love him back. He’d hate him. He wouldn’t be able to stay with him anymore, wouldn’t get to feel normal and warm and protective as he held him close. He could feel everything crawling inside of him, and it made him feel sick. He’d just had a righteous kill and already he felt the black crawling around inside of him, digging into his guts. That had never happened so soon after.

He thought about taking John away now, taking him to his brother’s and begging him for help, but neither of them were doctors. They knew all about taking people apart, not of putting them back together, and John’s injuries were too severe. He had to go to the hospital, which meant Barsad could not follow him. He could not risk being around when John told them, told everyone around him what happened. He didn’t want to give up John. He needed him so badly, but he needed him to be ok more.

He had barely the presence of mind to rip off his blood soaked rain slicker before he dragged John into the emergency room, drawing the attention of close-by nurses.

“I found him, on the road. I think he was hit by a car. You must help him!” He rushed the words, too panicked even to affect the New Orleans drawl he used as his cover in Gotham, his truer, more melodic accent coming out, instead.

He watched as John was taken away from him, carried off, and it felt like a knife between his ribs. He had given up John, and he knew he was never going to have him again. The black, the black was everywhere as he stumbled out of the hospital and fell into his car. He was barely able to drive; the black covered everything in its pitch, making the cityscape look as though it were slicked with oil. People became blobs of nothing, just shapes of slick, and he hated them all. He walked, now, and he cut them down. Sliced into them so the black would go away and the red would come. The red was better, so much better than the black; warm instead of cold. He cut and cut, bleeding them out, making the world red around him. It had been so long, and he’d tried so hard, but he’d slipped, and he didn’t care if the kills were righteous because John was gone from him.

He was driving again. Time was shifting in ways that didn’t make sense; they never did when he slipped. He was at his home, his brother’s home, and he felt wretched in his arms, twisting and sobbing in his furious embrace.

“What have you done, Barsad?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what to tell him.

“Have you slipped, brother?”

He nodded frantically and clung to him, even knowing the disappointment that would follow. He needed to be cleansed. He needed his brother’s absolution. Nothing felt right in him. He was let go and he clung to himself, hugged his own arms and dug his fingernails into his skin as he heard his brother move, as he heard the soft, muffled breathing as he put on his mask, as he became Bane. He shivered in relief that his salvation was at hand. The world went from black to red to nothingness.

____________________

 

The world was blue for John, filled with the foggy clouds of medication and soft beeps.

It wasn't a peaceful waking. In fact, it was very unpleasant to wake up bleary and with the general sense that everything was so deeply wrong. He hurt everywhere, especially his leg, which sent a constant not so light throb of pain through his body. He wanted Josh there to make it feel better.

Josh.

He groaned lightly and heard the light buzz of conversation flitting on over his head. When he tied to sit up, he felt the throb in his leg become a hot shot of pain that made him groan out louder and lick at his chapped up lips.

"Easy, son." There was a careful but firm grip on his shoulder. "Don't try to sit up."

He blinked his eyes open against the blinding blue. There was a man sitting by his bed. Why? It took him a few moments longer to realize he wasn't in his bed. A hospital? He tried to clear his throat to question it and broke into a dry cough, one that sent pain wracking through his leg. A cup was held to his lips and he took a tentative sip of the cool water there, holding it in his mouth a moment to let his parched tongue soak it up before he swallowed.

 "What—”

"You're in a hospital, John. It is John Blake, isn't it?"

He looked closer at the man, recognizing him finally and nodding. "Commissioner Gordon." He'd seen him; guy was famous in Gotham, an idol to every kid in the academy.

Gordon tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Looks like you've had a rough time of it, son, but I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you're feeling up to it?"

He looked down at Gordon's hands, hands that were holding a bloody, beaten up looking folder; his folder.

"Yes, sir," he answered, trying to sound calm while his mind raced with uncertainty.

"Good. I pulled your record, you're in the academy, aren't you, John? I'll be honest, it's not bad scoring, though it's not something I'd take a second look at. But this?" He opened up the folder and splayed it out carefully. "This here is damn fine detective work."

Oh God, what he wouldn't have given to have heard those words on any other day, in any other situation; not this one, though. Now, he merely nodded mutely at them and Gordon continued.

"John, tell me what happened." Gordon's tone was gentle but authoritative, no judgment to it; the perfect tone of a father trying to pull information from a wayward, reluctant, or frightened child. Perhaps in John's case all three, but Gordon couldn't know that.

"I-It's a hobby. I want to be a detective."

"You're on your way there, son," Gordon mumbled but then waited for him to finish.

"I just, I was bored. I decided to check out some things. I'm not exactly new to squatting; I used that to pick out a few possible locations, sir." Gordon's face softened a little at that and John closed his eyes, not wanting to see if that face would turn to pity. "I didn't think. I didn't really think I'd find anything."

"But you did," Gordon concluded for him. He felt a calloused, dry hand clasp over his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me what you saw.”

"I—"

He couldn't. He couldn't tell him. Not Josh. How could he explain that? How could he sentence Josh to death row like that? He couldn't fathom it. It made everything hurt so much more inside at the very idea. His brain recalled with perfect clarity that screaming, eyeless head he'd found. It hadn't been Josh, but in those moments when he had thought it had been, his world had felt like it was ending, even worse than it did as it crumbled around him now.

"I-I found a body. In pieces."

Gordon nodded. "We found it, too; Zachery Thompson. You came in here a mess, son, covered in blood and your folder tucked into your jacket. We used your map, went to the places you'd marked off, retraced your steps as much as we could. We can't figure out what happened after that, John. You were carried in here by a man, said you were hit by a car. The damages don't match up, though; they're more consistent with a fall, aren't they. Did you fall, John?"

Oh, fuck, he sure had, and he was still falling.

"Down from the top of the warehouse," he choked out.

"The platform? That thing is two stories high, John, that's a hell of a fall. You had an open tibia fracture, your ankle is busted up, and too, you're lucky you're not paralyzed. You've got some deep cuts, needed a lot of stitches on your arms and a couple on your neck, as well. It's going to take a while for you to heal up. So tell me this, how did you get out of that scrape? You sure didn't walk out on your own."

"I—" he faltered. "There was a man there. He dragged me out."

He looked over at Gordon who was watching him sharply. "Did you see him, John? What did he look like?"

"I didn't, I couldn't. It was too dark." It was true, it had been so dark.

Gordon didn't look deterred. "Did he say anything? Anything at all?"

_"It's alright, it's alright, sweetheart."_

He clenched his eyes tightly shut, feeling a rush of hot, angry tears threatening to ride up. "He said he'd take me to the hospital."

Gordon patted his hand and took out his notebook, writing in it. "Anything else? Anything you can remember at all? John, you know how this important this is."

He did. He did know.

He shook his head.

"It might come back to you more, later," Gordon reassured him. He didn't want it here now, none of it. "I'm going to hold onto your folder for just a bit, John, ok? I'm going to make sure you get it back, though, alright?"

He felt bile hit the back of his throat and shook his head. "I don't want it. Keep it."

Gordon paused then nodded. "Thank you. I'm not going to lie, John, I think you might have found your way into something huge. Right now, you're the closest thing to a lead we've ever had in this case. Let me let you in on my theory, just between the two of us. I think you met the butcher himself, John, ran right into him. I don't know why he didn't kill you, I really don't. Maybe you didn't fit into what he would consider a victim and he couldn't do it, panicked, but whatever it was, you're damn lucky."

He didn't feel so lucky.

"You've got the makings of a great detective, son, but John? If you ever do something so stupid again, I'll have you expelled from the academy myself, you got that?" Gordon fixed him with a hard look and a hysterical laugh nearly bubbled out of John's lips. Right, no more falling in love with serial killers; good thing the commissioner himself was there to set him on the straight and narrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Gordon sighed. "Now that that's out of the way, I want your help on this, off the books. I want you to keep trying to remember, to help me out with this chicken scratch you call hand writing, and when you're out of the academy, whether we catch this guy or not, you've got a detective’s badge waiting for you. Those instincts of yours, kid? Those can't be taught, and I want them on my division."

John stared at him, too dumbfounded to speak. A nurse came in, and Gordon was scooted out sternly, barely able to get out a goodbye. Detective.

Josh would be so fucking proud.

God, it hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

Bane set down the still-glowing blowtorch. The smell of burning flesh was sure to be thick in the air, but the mask filtered such things before they crept into his nose. Likewise, the screams being ripped from his brother's lungs were muted things, though he could see them plainly enough by the way Barsad's jaw was wrenched open, how he thrashed wildly against the chains that kept him strapped tightly to the stained wooden panel that had been laid out flat over the large copper tub. The slats between the wood allowed Bane to pause in his work and hose his brother off as needed, when grime and blood obscured his body so much that Bane could not see his work being done.

The chains were a gift to his brother, though, a blessing to keep him still so he would not have to stop his work when Barsad fell from the boards and then wait for him to climb back onto them, weakly but willingly-always willing to be purified when he slipped, and purified he now was. Blunt, sharp, suffocation, electricity, ice, fire; their ritual was now complete. It had taken nine days of cleansing until he was certain his brother was on the path once more. He turned off the torch and observed his brother's broken body.

He had gone so long without a slip. Something grievous must have caused the event, and Bane needed to know the nature of it. He knew in his heart that he should truly end his brother for such a sharp fall. While his brother faded in and out of consciousness between cleansings, he'd seen the news, six bodies fresh in the streets, but the idea made him ache. Barsad was his black sheep, and yet he was also the sweetest of his lambs. He made him soft, made him feel fond, and he could not bring himself to end a brother who tried so very hard to curb such a deep darkness inside, and responded with such sweet earnestness.

He removed his mask, seeing his brother's near sightless eyes close in relief, and Bane knew that Barsad recognized that his cleansing was over and Bane was brother once more. His weakened frame trembled as he was unchained, and softer mewls of pain were pulled from his body as he wiped off his form with a soft cloth, balmed his cuts, stitched his larger wounds after carefully disinfecting them. When he finished his work, he lifted Barsad easily into his arms, feeling weary fingers lace around his neck as he carried his brother to their bed and laid him out on clean sheets, brushing his fingers over his brow. Barsad tilted his head, desperately seeking out the gentle touch.

"You must tell me what happened, brother."

His fingers stilled when Barsad did not speak, making his brother crane his neck more, seeking the attention. His brother always answered him.

"Barsad."

He wiped away a few stray tears when his brother finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper from his screams. "He, he saw me."

He paused again. "Your John."

He received a weak nod and sighed. Of course. This risk had been mistake.

"He witnessed you?"

"Yes"

"Then he must be taken care of."

He felt his brother go tense and still despite the new pain it must have caused him. "Please, please, brother! It cannot, it cannot be done," he begged softly. "I will see him no longer! He does not know my real name; I will keep away from him."

"He knows your face, your body. How long before he describes both to the authorities? Where is he now?"

His brow furrowed when Barsad closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I cannot, I cannot. Please. He is pure; he is not a righteous kill."

He felt his anger rise slightly. Barsad was never one to disobey, not when it came to the mission. "Brother, you know that when there is great risk, even the innocent must die, for the greater good."

Weak fingers gripped at his arms. "Please, not him, not him!"

He took up his hands. There was no strength in them, at the moment. He squeezed them lightly. "There is too much risk."

"There is always risk! You take great risk with me!"

He shook his head. "You are my întuneric mieluşel, my dark little lamb. I am soft with you. Do not mistake this for weakness in our path. There can be no more risk with him. If you do not tell me, I will simply find him without your assistance. Tell me, and I will make it peaceful for him."

He could see the suffering in his brother's eyes, but he did not let himself be swayed by it. He watched as illness washed over his features and his hands hid his face.

"I cannot, I cannot! It is too great a burden to bear." He saw a soft sob shudder through his brother and he sighed, knowing it to be true.

"Then I will find him myself. I will make it quick, he will feel little," he promised, knowing that while it offered no solace now, it would be a small comfort to his brother, later. "You will not be able to stop me in this, brother."

His brother's body trembled now, the cleansing had taken so much from it, and it would take so long for him to recover when it was coupled with the grief of loss. It could not be helped, though. He ran a hand through his hair as he grieved softly and waited until he stilled, slipping into a fitful, but hopefully healing, sleep. When he was certain he would not wake, he removed his hand and covered him carefully. The pain when he awoke would be excruciating as his body tried to heal all at once, and he did not wish to leave him alone in it, but he would need to take care of this John quickly. So much time had already passed.

It was quick work. His bag was always ready, always prepared for when it would be needed. While his brother slept, he went through his things, taking up the small key that had been entrusted to him and a few other items that he was sure would lead him to this John, pocketing them. He had only to place his mask inside of the bag before he gave his brother a final fond look and left their home.

____________________

John sat in the taxi quietly and watched the city pass by him through the window. He was just now finally allowed to go home, but he felt like he was still hurting everywhere and had been told it would take months until he felt ok again, if not longer. He had found out that they'd performed surgery on him right away and that he had a pin or two in his leg now, possibly a plate. Honestly, he hadn't been paying attention, but had been told that since it had been gotten to so quickly and they'd been able to administer antibiotics right away, that his chance of infection was much lower than most open fractures.

Thank God he'd been able to work things out with the academy; Gordon backing him had really helped. He was told his scholarship would still be there for him when he recovered, and he was going to be able to collect temporary disability so that he wouldn't be out on the streets with a broken leg. He was trying to just focus on that and nothing else. He couldn't let himself think about anything else.

Gordon came to see him daily. Gordon was the only person who saw him, period. He was grateful that the man never said anything about that, not that he would; John had come to find that the commissioner lived up to his reputation as a soft-spoken bad ass with a heart of gold. It was nice to know there were some good people still out there. He asked John about his notes and tried to jog his memory, pick his brain for any more details about that night. John told him whatever he wanted about the notes and lied to his face about the rest. He could remember every single little detail, and he just wanted so badly to forget them.

He tried not to think about it, really he did, but for over a week now his brain had kindly replayed every last bit of his relationship with Josh over and over again in his mind. Had it been the whole time? Why hadn't Josh killed him? Had he ever killed someone and then come to him, kissed his cheek right after he washed blood off of his hands? Whenever he thought about it, he felt sick and lonely.

It had taken some doing to get into the taxi, and now he was finding it was taking a lot more to get out of it. He hobbled on his crutches, politely declining the driver's offer to help him get into his apartment. He could do this. John was used to being alone, and he was going to be just fucking fine. It took some MORE doing, but he got up the stairs, careful to jostle his leg as little as possible. He just had to get into the door and then he could collapse on the couch and go to sleep, hopefully for forever, or at least until his next checkup.

He unlocked his door and groaned when cold air wafted out of his apartment. Fuck, he'd left the window to the fire escape open when he'd left. Nine days of heating up the outside, John, good going. He hobbled over to it to push it down and latch it before he flopped onto the couch with as much care as he could muster, pulling his legs up one at a time, his thick cast of course giving him trouble, and setting them on the coffee table. It was freezing. He tugged a blanket from the couch over his lap, then immediately yanked it off when the soft scent of Josh's cologne wafted up from it. He could just be cold.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. Gordon had gotten it taken out of evidence for him, and, shockingly, it had survived the fall and being thrown a lot better than John had. He'd ignored Gordon's call earlier, he was too afraid the guy was going to ask if he needed a hand getting back to his place or something equally awkward that John just wouldn't really know how to handle. Other than that, no one had called; not surprising, he'd only ever bothered getting a cell phone after he'd met Josh. He could probably just get rid of it now and save some cash. There was a message, so he put his voicemail on speaker, tossing the phone onto the couch and rubbing his hands over his face. God, he wanted to sleep.

Gordon's voice drifted up to him from the couch cushion. "John, I wanted to go over a couple of thoughts with you, and I still don't like the idea of you not having an officer with you if that man saw your face."

John snorted. Oh, God. He had no idea.

"I can't force you, though. We had a bit of a breakthrough in forensics I wanted to let you in on in person."

Fuck. He felt his stomach flip flop a bit at that.

"But since you're not answering, I'll tell you anyway and let you mull it over a bit, and then you can get back to me. It looks like we might be looking at two perps, kid."

John froze with his hands on his face, staring off into space.

"One's definitely doing the majority of these killings, but the cuts aren't matching up on some of these bodies. The strength needed to make them, the way the saw was held, it's different; we could be dealing with either a copycat or hell, even a pair."

Two killers. Two killers? Was Josh killing with someone else? Oh, God, what if that other person was MAKING Josh kill. What if Josh had been doing it out of fear? His heart raced and fear, mixed with the tiniest curl of hope, swirled around him. If Josh was being forced, then it was awful, terrible, but it wasn't his fault. He had to know. He grabbed up the phone, quickly exiting his voice mail, ignoring whatever Gordon was still speaking about, and typed in Josh's number. He'd deleted the contact, but hell if he didn't know it by heart.

It took a moment to connect then he heard it ring in his ear, once, twice.

_"Unforgettable, that's what you are..."_

His fingers went numb and the phone clattered to the floor.

_"Unforgettable, though near or far."_

The soft singing drifted to him from his closed bedroom door.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Realization dawned on him far too late. Josh fucking had a key, and even if he didn't, the window had been wide open the whole time. He was such a fucking idiot. His earlier hopeful thoughts were gone. Why did he think that it would be ok to call Josh? He'd been covered in blood when he found him; Gordon had said that there were two different types of cuts, no matter what Josh was a killer. A killer that was in his fucking bedroom.

_"That's why, darling, it's incredible that someone so unforgettable."_

He should call the police, he should call Gordon. He should get the fuck out of there.

He watched, frozen, as the doorknob to his bedroom slowly twisted open. When he tried to bolt upright he cried out, having forgotten his leg in his panic. He grabbed onto the cast, trying to stabilize it as the door to the bedroom slid open without a sound.

_"Thinks that I am unforgettable, too."_

He stared up at the man looming in the doorframe, giant, imposing, and holding a softly playing cell phone in his hand.

There really were two killers. It wasn't just Josh doing this. He was looking into the cold blue eyes of a man who was going to kill him.


	8. Chapter 8

It had not been hard to track down his brother's lover. He pieced together what little Barsad had told him of the younger man, and with that information along with a key and the text messages and bits of information stored on his brother's phone he was able to locate the apartment where his brother had been spending most of his evenings. Truth be told, it had bothered him, worried him even, how much time his brother had been spending away from home, but he had let it go. Clearly this had been a mistake on his part.

The small apartment was empty and cold. It was clear no one had been home for quite some time. He raised a curious eye at the open window but left it, not wishing to make his presence obvious. He looked around the small living area, unable to refrain from being curious about a place where his brother spent so much time. It was well lived in, textbooks piled onto a counter, dirty coffee mugs lining a table, a balled up sweatshirt tossed into the corner of the room. It was amusingly domestic, less neat than their home ever found itself.

 It was cozy. He softened when he realized that this had truly become a second home to his brother. He felt the need to explore it, catalogue it, and treasure it for what it was. He did not like that he would bring his brother sorrow now, it was simply an act that must occur; so if Barsad was to suffer for him, then he would take it upon himself to understand exactly what his brother was losing.

He entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him and taking in the small room. The bed was unmade, and when he set his bag onto it and sat heavily beside it he could smell his brother's scent in the room, mingled with another's in a way that was not unpleasant to his nose. A glint caught his eye and he looked over to the bedside table, picking up a small picture frame.

It was puzzling, but it took him a few moments to recognize his own brother, the one who he had trained and guided since he had first discovered him. He realized why after a few moments of tracing his thumb across the smooth glass of the frame.

Barsad was smiling. He was happy, his eyes lit with joy.

His dark little lamb was many things, vexing, sweet, earnest, obedient, willing, strong.

Never happy, not like this.

But here in the photograph, the smile on his face was so genuine it shone through his eyes even captured on paper. His brother and this boy, arms draped over each other's shoulders, balloons and bright lights in an open-aired background, a fair or carnival of sorts. He had never seen John's face before, and he knew now why his brother had been taken with him. The boy in the photo smiled with Barsad, and though he had never seen him before, he knew that this, too, was a moment of happiness that no one else had been able to capture from John.

Perhaps they were fated. For if his path had taught him anything, it was to believe in fate. He knew of love, perhaps not in the sense most people would recognize it. He loved his brothers, his sister. He had raised them all to follow the path; Talia and their brother had learned it fast and well, had left the nest so much sooner than Barsad, and perhaps that was why he had grown so soft to him.

This picture, this was love, happiness; he had grown too fond of his brother to take them from him.

"You always bring the most risk," he breathed out softly, running his fingers over the photograph again.

He was uncertain what could be done, but he knew in that moment that he could not end the life of John without ending a piece of Barsad, as well; perhaps making it so he would never be able to stay on the path. John was still risk, though, high risk, but all of his brothers and sisters brought risk.

_He had been following the youth for the better part of the day now. He did not see him; one could not see the shadows, and that is what he was when he put on his mask and became Bane. He was darkness and smoke, the nightmare one could never see before it was far too late. He watched as the young man twitched and muttered, how his hand slid into his jacket only to be jerked back out a few minutes later. He watched without pity as the man finally gave in to his urges, luring another man into the alley, gutting him with a blissful moan on his lips as he went, as his knife slid into flesh over and over again and his hands coated over in blood. When it was over, his face calmed for a fraction of a moment before he became horrified, frantically tried to push the dead man's organs back into him._

_Bane came upon him and let his hand rest heavily on his shoulder. The youth before him had a choice, though Bane knew a brother when he saw one—one who would want the path._

_"You have killed this man; why?"_

_The shoulder under his arm tightened and Barsad yanked away from him, knife clattering to the ground as he flattened to the wall. A denial rose to his lips, only to fall when he took in the sight of Bane. Then his knees weakened visibly and he nodded in relief._

_"Yes. Yes, I have done this. Tell me; are you here to end it? Please, I just wish this madness to end."_

_Bane knelt down and picked up the bloodied knife, watching as Barsad tilted his head back, exposing his throat. "Please."_

_"I have asked you a question."_

_"I do not have an answer for it! I do what I must; it quiets things, it makes the black in my head fade."_

_He nodded thoughtfully, turning Barsad's knife to his throat and letting the tip of it scape over skin and beard._

_"You do not need to kill so needlessly, brother. There is darkness in you, you have been cursed as I have been, but you can turn your curse into a gift. You can use it with me to spread a cleansing fire over the filth of the world, over those who cannot follow the path."_

_Soft blue_ _eyes looked into his own_ _, lit up with desperate hope. "You… you can make this end?"_

_He shook his head. "It never ends, brother, but I can give you reason for it. I can give your life purpose."_

_He accepted the tears of Barsad as he flew to his chest, burying sticky red fingers into his shirt as he wept. He cradled his head, and then took him home for his first cleansing._

His brother took to his cleansing beautifully, but he slipped so easily without constant guidance. He needed the righteous kill so much more often than the others, more than his exquisite Talia who he had released from their nest years ago with the knowledge that she could now make her own judgments. They were at times darker than his own, but he knew that the path could not be the same for all. She came to their home often, still, when she took a break from her travels, seeking guidance, to reunite their bodies, to sing to Barsad and stroke his hair when his darkness troubled him. She needed the kill only once every few months perhaps, and each time it was planned so carefully; a game, an art, really, that she had perfected as no one else could.

Their brother too had learned quickly. He had been a most eager student, perhaps too eager at times. He had not overseen their brother's training as much as he would have liked, their creator had done much of it before his passing. He wondered at times if his brother would be more at peace if he had not been taught such an unbending law of rigid righteousness. Everything was crisp black and white in his path. This could at times be a burden, for there were cases when the world could not help but be gray, and their brother always ended such kills in a cloudy mood. He, too, was gone from the home, but he also came often, for many of the reasons Talia did, but also to ask for cleansing when he felt himself drifting, desiring to stop any urges before they could come upon him.

But Barsad, he often wondered if he would ever be able to leave the home, and, at times, when he was feeling at his most selfish, he wished that were so. He sighed. All of his family brought risk, and now a new factor would be added to increase this, but Barsad, he had realized long ago, was worth risk.

He tucked the picture frame into his bag as he heard the soft sounds of music welling up from Barsad's phone and then the clatter of noise outside of the door. His brother's lover was no doubt home, and he had not had time to fully formulate a new plan. This was not in his nature, but he understood that to allow this boy to escape now would be folly.

____________________

John stared, not moving, not breathing. He knew he couldn't walk on his own, let alone run. The man was studying him, like he was fucking prey. He _was_ fucking prey.

"You are John." It wasn't a question.

John jumped at the voice; it was smooth, cultured, with a strange accent. It wasn't at all what he had expected to leave the man's mouth. He looked like he should be growling, snarling. He was enormous, his mass was barely contained by the door frame. John could see scars that ran along his shaven head. He looked like a fighter, a brawler. This was what a killer looked like, all muscle and danger.

"You are very fortunate, to have his love," The man continued, and John couldn't stop staring. How could he sound so gentle? The man was like a fucking sweet-voiced angel of death. He shuddered, and then paid attention to his words.

"Josh… is he ok? If you hurt him," he swore, clenching his fists, knowing he had to look about as intimidating as a fucking angry baby goat. The man tilted his head at him, his thick lips curving into an entertained smile.

"Spirited."

He approached him, and John attempted to scramble backwards up on the couch, inhibited once more by his goddamned leg.

"You stay the fuck away from me!" he hissed. "I'll scream."

"And I will kill you. My brother would be most upset, however. To be honest, he thinks you dead already, so I would merely be fulfilling what he thinks to be destiny."

"You… your brother… oh holy fuck, you’re Josh's BROTHER?" John realized. Josh was right. His brother wasn't well. He wasn't fucking well, at all.

"Language." The man clicked his tongue in mild disapproval and John felt his mouth snap shut in obedience.  He could not curse for five fucking minutes. If this guy was implying that if he didn't scream he WOULDN'T kill him, he could be as silent as a fucking grave.

"Will you struggle if I carry you?"

"I am not fucking going ANYWHERE with you!" he swore out in response, very not grave-like.

A thick finger tapped over his cast and he cried out as sudden pain lanced through his body.

"Yes, you would struggle."

He was too distracted by the pain in his leg to see the needle approaching his arm until he felt it sliding into the skin. He tried to shove away, but his hands might as well have been trying to move a steel girder for all the good they did shoving at this mammoth's arm. A dopey haze washed over him almost immediately, and his arms dropped limply to his sides. Dimly he realized that, for the first time in forever, he couldn't feel his leg hurting; it was kind of nice, actually.

"Rest." The word drifted to his ears as a firm command, and his eyelids were too heavy to disobey it. He felt himself being lifted up into impossibly strong arms, his head flopping until it was held lightly, cradled by a large hand and he was being carried. He opened his mouth to yell and a weak murmur came out instead; his face was pressed into a firm chest to stifle even that.

"Rest."

____________________

He held the boy in his arms; he was almost lighter than even Talia, whose soft curves hid steel and heavy muscle that few people discovered until it was too late. This boy was frail in comparison, all long, lean bones, a bit of warm weight that settled nicely against him while the drugs kept him pliant. He had brought them to make the boy's death tender and painless, but they were well suited to the new purpose of gentling him until he could be transported home.

 

He was spared not a glance as he loaded the boy into the backseat of the truck, arranging his leg with a measure of care reserved for a select few. He supposed that he looked as though he were aiding a fallen friend with the boy's cast and obvious injuries. He was curious as to how wounded he was, as he was certain that his brother had not done it himself. He could not help a small smile. His brother would be in rapture to know his little love lived. He shut the doors carefully, locking them before he went to retrieve his own bag and a bag of medications he noted had been dropped by the door.

He was surprised when he came back to find John had managed even in his drugged daze to claw weakly at the truck door. He saw him prying desperately at the lock, fingers too weak to pull it up. Truly, he had spirit. When he opened the door, he saw him begin to open his mouth to yell and cupped his palm over it firmly to muffle it, getting a feeble thrash.

"You may scream all you wish when we are home," he informed him, taking a length of duct tape from his pack and fastening it over the boy's mouth. There was a reason one never left home without one’s bag. He hefted his weight into the driver's seat. He could hear the slight struggles as he drove, but he knew John was not in his right mind at the moment and was not surprised when soon exhaustion claimed him and he either slept or laid there in a drugged stupor.

The journey home was long and he traveled it in silence as always, using it for contemplation when others would fill it with music or discussion.  He would need to learn from John what had been shared with the officers of the law, for he was certain that at least something had been told and he needed to know if it was anything that could be used against them. If Barsad's face was known to the police, it could prove difficult.

Josh. He realized then that John had called Barsad by a name he thought had not been used by the other man outside of his family in years. It was certainly not the agreed-upon alias to be used during their time in Gotham. It was the name that he had first known his brother as, until he was renamed by himself and his family. It was a sign of how quickly and how deeply his brother had fallen in with John. He felt his protective nature rise up at that. John had better hope for his own well-being that he returned those feelings just as strongly.

____________________

He reached their current home finally, still in Gotham but in the suburbs of the city, on a road dotted with few other houses aside from their own. Most had for-sale signs up on the front lawns but would never to be bought by others thanks to some clever loopholes found by his brother that would make the property appear to be on the market while it had in fact been bought in full by him years ago. It gave the sense that this neighborhood was ordinary, normal, but for the fact that it was mostly empty. The only others on the street were a few elderly couples, those who had spent most of their lives in these homes, hard of hearing or senile; no one that had ever caused them trouble. In fact, Barsad had ended up a favorite of theirs, handsome and willing to smile at the older women as he took care of the lawn.

The home itself had been a gift from his brother, who had been more than happy to see them set up shop in Gotham when they were normally more nomadic in nature. It was unusual to be in one place for so long. Talia certainly did not care for it; she was a wanderer by nature and still traveled and funded herself well while doing so. Their brother had never been one to do the same, though. He never liked when they went from place to place, and once he had been allowed to leave their nest it surprised no one that he had returned to his old city and his old dwelling, his old money, though he used it in a very different manner now. In turn, their brother had leapt at the chance to persuade him to stay in Gotham when he mentioned in passing to his brother that he felt as though a more stable atmosphere might do Barsad well.

He pulled into the garage, where the heavy door rattled shut behind the truck. It did not rattle John, however, who he suspected had truly passed out at this point. He wondered for a moment where he should even put the man. The bed he shared with his brother was the largest, but he needed to speak with Barsad in private first, before reuniting the pair. He settled instead on the bedroom often set aside for Talia and her visits, carrying John's limp form to it and laying him out over it. Out of precaution, he brought the man's arms up and threaded a pair of handcuffs through the bedframe, attaching them to John's wrists. He hoped it was a needless precaution, but he knew to be careful.

____________________

Barsad lay in agony of the body and spirit. He felt crumpled by the pain of them both. He was so cold and dark inside, and the thick blankets he had been draped in, the soft light his brother had knowingly left on for him, did nothing to ease him. _John_. He could not bear to know that he was nothing but a cold corpse now, a fleeting memory in his mind, and that it was his own doing. He could not blame his brother for this. He knew. He knew that his own happiness was not worth endangering his entire family, but oh, John; the thought of enduring without him was crushing.

He heard his brother's truck in the garage and knew the work was done. He wanted to curl in on himself, but his body's healing left him near paralysis, weak as the baby lamb that his family fondly called him, and he could only close his eyes and listen. He heard doors opening, heavy footsteps, and then the slow creak of Talia's door being opened. The last confused him. Perhaps Talia had been told, had come to be with Barsad, to soothe him. He felt the smallest of ease in his heart. His sister's hands were deadly claws to others, but him they never scratched. They provided gentle comfort in his darkest times. Oh, how he wished for that now.

The bedroom door opened and he could not open his eyes to greet his brother, too scared to meet his gaze, fearful that he could not keep the unfair anger out of his eyes. It was not his brother's fault, his brother sought only to protect him. He was to blame. Softer footsteps padded to the bed, quiet in an effort to not jar him from his rest. He felt fingers stroke through his locks and sighed at how, even in his worst, the touch of a family member called to him, soothed him.

He felt something cold being pressed to his hands and he dared to open his eyes, heart beating faster as he looked down at the small picture frame, John's sweet face smiling up at him.

_"I didn't even know Gotham HAD carnivals." John raised an eyebrow as Barsad smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer and feeling John's body heat warm against his own. It was a little too hot to be so close, but neither of them seemed to notice._

_"I'm pretty sure all cities have something like them, especially around this time of year. Did you want to go?" He had wanted to get John out someplace that wasn't a bar for once, but John wasn't much for eating out in restaurants, mostly because Barsad suspected he felt strange about Barsad always paying or being looked at too closely as they ate. And somehow, even though it was never a problem at home, John always managed to fall asleep when they went to the movie theater, too tired from school to stay awake once the lights went dim. This, though, he suspected would be more to John's interests. He could see the lights of the Ferris wheel spinning faintly in the distance as they walked in the crowded streets together._

_"Can we get cotton candy?"_

_"If they have it, sure."_

_"It's a CARNIVAL, Josh." He got a skeptical look. "Of course they have cotton candy."_

_"Cotton candy it is, then."_

_"It has to be blue, though," he was informed quite seriously. Barsad scoured the small stands until they were walking away with paper cones wrapped in sticky strands of blue spun sugar that adhered to their lips._

_"Would you like to go on some rides?"_

_"We'll probably die," John remarked cheerfully, eyeing the questionable safety measures that made up some of the rides. "Yeah, what the hell; let's go on the Ferris wheel, then I'm going to ram you in the bumper cars."_

_"Really? And here I forgot to bring condoms," he remarked with a cheeky smile, pleased with the way John blinked in surprise at the joke and glanced around before snorting and shoving at him._

_They rode the Ferris wheel until Barsad was lightheaded, and then John did indeed proceed to smash into Barsad in the bumper cars. After, they ended up sharing some sticky mouthed kisses behind a gaming booth where John ground out against his leg and Barsad almost wished he HAD brought condoms. He settled instead for ducking into a nearby maintenance shack and kneeling down to blow John,  stretching his lips out over his cock and smiling inside at John's embarrassed whispers that they were going to get caught, looking up as he bit his lip and flushed for Barsad until he spilled in his mouth._

_"We're going to save that for later, sweetheart," he whispered into John's ear with a kiss when John reached for his tented jeans, still panting from his own orgasm. "Going to come home with you tonight if you'd like, alright? Spend the whole night together."_

_"Jesus, you're going to fucking kill me," John groaned out then nodded eagerly._

_"Never," Josh promised and dragged him out of the small shack. "C'mon, I want you to show me all of those fancy new shooting skills you've been learning. Win me something pretty."_

_He'd watched proudly when John had no trouble compensating for the rigging of the air rifle, then laughed when he proceeded to pick out the pinkest stuffed animal he could find on the rack, proudly shoving a stuffed neon pink sheep into his hands._

_"You've gotta keep it forever, now," John grinned._

_Barsad planned to do just that. He grinned back and dragged John over to the closest photograph booth, ignoring his halfhearted protests, tickling and kissing him silly until he got him smiling again for a good picture._

It was their only picture. Barsad felt they never really needed another; this one captured them both perfectly. He traced a finger over John's beautiful smile, forcing himself to speak.

"Thank you, for bringing it to me." He knew how lifeless his tone sounded, but he was truly grateful for the thoughtfulness in the gesture.

"You love him deeply." He felt a hand squeeze softly into the back of his neck, one of the few places on his body not covered in deep wounds. "I did not kill him. Truly, you have made me soft, my dark little lamb." His brother's voice sounded bewildered even with himself.

When his brother's words sank in, relief swept over Barsad, so strongly he almost threw up from it. His John was still alive, even if he were never to see him again; to have that knowledge… He cried, knowing his brother would not fault him.

"Thank you, thank you, brother."

His brother nodded in acknowledgement, leaning down when Barsad's fingers crept from the blanket to reach for him so he could press his dry lips to his cheek, warm, soft lips kissing gently over his own in return. His brother had just done something perilous for the sake of his happiness; his body still ached, but his heart was light once more with joy. He sighed out his brother's name, the one that was his only when he wore no mask, when he was brother and not Bane. His cheek was stroked in return for it, and his brother lay out his heavy weight beside him, pressed their foreheads together.

"I would wish you to rest and heal before I tell you more, but I suspect you would discover it on your own."

Barsad made a questioning noise, soaking up his brother's gentle contact.

"I have brought him here, to live."

His eyes flew open in shock; the only reason his body did not jolt and cause him to cry out in pain was because it simply lacked the energy to do so.

Here? Brother, I do not—"

"You love him. He helps you, and he cannot be let go with the knowledge he holds. He will remain here." His voice brooked no argument and his own died on his lips. His brother had let John live, to argue with him now would be pure folly.

"He... He will hate me." His stomach roiled at the notion.

His brother's finger tapped heavily onto the glass of the frame. "This does not speak of hate."

He shook his head. "He is not like us. He has darkness and anger inside, but it is not like us. He does not need the kill."

"If you love him, then he will be family all the same," his brother promised. "They will accept him, as will I."

"But what if he doesn't accept it?" he worried. The thought, though, the thought of his sweet John being welcomed into the fold… it was like heaven, but John was different.

"You will work on him. We will assist, if needed."

"May I see him, brother? Please?"

"Can you stand to be moved?"

"I could walk there myself, if needed," he promised breathlessly, so thrilled with the thought of seeing John when he thought such a thing could never occur again.

"Crawl, perhaps," his brother remarked dryly. "I will carry you, instead."

He smiled tiredly. "That would be preferable."


	9. Chapter 9

It was excruciating to be moved. Stitches were shifted, barely scabbed over wounds tugged, burns lit up with new flame, bone deep bruises throbbed when pressed into, but he grit his teeth and bore it as he was lifted by his brother as carefully as he was able and carried. His mind drifted in the short distance between rooms, clear evidence of how unhealed he was yet, but felt himself being set down once more and, oh, he opened his eyes and there was John laid out beside him, alive, breathing, warm. He was grateful when his brother helped him lift his arm and eased it over John's stomach. He managed to slip his fingers under the hem of his shirt.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathed out, cherishing the warm skin under his fingers. John's eyes were glazed and Barsad recognized easily the look of one who had been drugged; his poor sweetheart.  He doubted he was even recognized at the moment. He snuffed deeply, nosing against the crook of John's neck as much as he was able, looking over his body. Oh, he had been so injured when he had discovered him in the warehouse, he felt very badly about that. His leg was set in such a thick cast, plaster cocooning it tightly from thigh to toes and there were ugly stitches on his neck and arms and Barsad hated the idea that they would leave scars on John's skin.

There was a dazed mumble and Bane worked the tape from John's mouth. Barsad saw the care there, and he smiled weakly, feeling a bit of hope warm him further. If John could accept... well, then he would have the attentions of not just him, but of an entire family, something John deserved. Perhaps this could work, if he could help John understand he was safe, that he would never hurt him. He worried, though; if he couldn't, what would his brother do?

"Shh, you rest now. I have you, John." He watched glazed eyes flutter shut slowly. His brother's hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"You should eat soon, brother; you need to regain your strength."

"Soon," he promised. "May I rest first, with him?” There was a squeeze to his neck in response before his brother left them, shutting the door softly behind him. Barsad lay aching still, but his heart was so much less burdened than before, and he found that sleep took him quickly when he shared John's warmth.

____________________

He woke up again in another medicated haze. Was he back in the hospital? Had he never left? Had that really been a fucking dream? He tried to fumble around for the morphine drip because, oh god, leg, but there was a rattling noise instead, and his arms caught up somehow, feeling pinched and cramping from being held in one position for so long. He tugged again in confusion; he was sure there was a puzzle here he just wasn’t solving, and that this would be so much easier if he wasn’t feeling blitzed out of his mind.

Clink. Clink. He shifted again and pulled harder, wincing when his wrists were bit into by metal. Cuffs, it had to be cuffs, and now he was confused and worried. He opened his eyes cautiously to stare up at the ceiling, expecting hard hospital lights, but only a soft glow permeated the room.

This was definitely not a hospital. He felt a warm weight draped over his chest and looked down.

Josh. Oh, Jesus Christ, it was Josh.

What had been done to him? He looked so fucking broken. There wasn’t an inch of him from the neck down that didn’t look like it had been beaten, cut, or burned. He could smell the hurt coming off of him, the disinfectant, the scent of blood under barely scabbed and stitched cuts, and the burn of skin. Josh had always been covered in scars—accidents, accidents and fights, but now he knew better. That man, that fucking monster had been real, and he’d done this to Josh. John didn’t know how he was alive, he barely believed it, seeing him, only the warmth coming from the fingers that were tucked up under his slightly rucked-up shirt, touching bare skin, twitching lightly, told him otherwise.

“Josh… oh fuck, Josh, you have to wake up,” he whispered softly. “We have to get you out of here.” Whatever was going on, whatever Josh had done, he was so hurt, now, and they were both in danger. John just needed to get them safe and then he could deal with the other fifty million or so emotions rumbling around in his brain and heart.

“I doubt he will rouse,” came a soft voice by the bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin, yanking on his arms again. “When he enters such a deep healing sleep, it is best to let him be for a few hours, or let him wake on his own.”

He knew that voice. He was there now, sitting beside the bed and watching him, watching Josh, a book laid out in his lap as though he had been there watching them sleep. Oh Christ. He pulled at his arms more, his brain refusing to accept that it was a useless endeavor. R _un_ , _run_ , it screamed at him, and he yanked until his wrists felt like he’d ripped into the skin.

“Are you hungry?”

“Fuck, fuck no, I’m not,” he panted out, still pulling weakly.

“You have a sinful tongue,” the man observed.

_Oh god, please don’t cut it out_ , he prayed. He closed his mouth tightly and willed Josh to wake up, not that he knew what Josh could possibly do. Josh was worse off than he was; at least he had one good leg left on him. All of those injuries…

“How could you fucking do that to him? He’s your BROTHER.”

The man tilted his head and John barely held back a glare, feeling revolted at the way the man’s hand went to the back of Josh’s neck where it rubbed tenderly, gently, like he actually cared about how hurt Josh was.

“You caused him to slip. It was regrettable, but he asked for cleansing, and it is my job to provide it to a fallen brother.”

_You did this_. That was what the man was saying. _This is your fault_. Josh got too close to him, hadn’t killed him, and God, this was, what, punishment for that?

“You hurt him; you hurt him because of me,” he whispered out, wishing he could touch Josh.

The man looked puzzled and shook his head. “There is much you do not understand yet, but it is not for me to tell you alone. Know this however; my brother’s injuries were not your doing any more than yours are his. It is simply cruel fate that has intertwined them.”

He shook his head, not understanding. Even if he didn’t have the after effects of drugs humming around in his mind, he was sure that wouldn’t have made sense.

“I suspect you wish to be alone with him. I will fix you both something to eat.” The man stood, his weight leaving the chair causing it to creak. “I would ask you not to scream now, no one will hear you and I wish him to sleep longer.” He left without waiting for an answer, the door shutting quietly behind him; the click of a lock. He closed his eyes tightly. What the fuck was he going to do?

He looked around the room for something, anything that could help out. It was a nice room, not huge but easily twice the size of his apartment’s bedroom. The soft glow that lit up the room came from a bedside lamp, draped in a gauzy red cloth, out of reach. There were cloth hangings draped against the walls, deep reds with gold stitches embroidering them. The soft fabrics that covered the entire room made it appear cozy, warm. Beyond that, though, it looked empty; nothing on the dresser, the table, the vanity. The only object in the room beyond larger furniture was the lamp.

He still felt cloudy, like he was losing time. He could hear distant noises, the clink of dishes, running water, the soft clicks of a stove being lit. Then he was waking to the smell of grease and meat and potato. When had he fallen asleep? His stomach rumbled despite himself, and a quick look down showed Josh was still nestled against his side, fingers still tucked into his shirt. His cheeks looked a little ruddy under his beard, and John worried he had an infection from his wounds. He wished he could check for fever.

_“You look like shit, Josh.” He looked over Josh as he stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped a bit, his face red, nose looking sore and puffy._

_“Why thank you, sweetheart.”_

_“Come in, you can come lie down on the couch.” He listened to Josh cough wetly into his hand then shake his head._

_“Can’t, I’ve got a haul; I just wanted to drop you off the book you left in my car so you can study.” He held out the textbook._

_He took it, hesitating. “You can’t get anyone to cover it? Come on, you look like you’re going to pass out.”_

_“I’ll be just fine,” Josh mumbled, then was another wet cough and John shook his head._

_“No, bullshit. Come on, I’ll call your boss myself if I have to, tell him he can suck my dick if he thinks you’re going out when you look like this.”_

_He grinned a little at the short laugh he got and grabbed Josh’s shoulder, pulling him inside then pushing him onto the couch where he flopped heavily and put a hand over his forehead with a sick groan, clearly pained by it._

_“Alright, alright, I should go home, though; I don’t want to be getting you sick.”_

_“Nah, you won’t. I’ve got one of the best immune systems around.” He smiled and grabbed a blanket from the bedroom, tucking it in around Josh, and got an amused murmur._

_“You gonna take care of me then, sweetheart?”_

_“You bet your ass I am.” Jesus, Josh took care of him enough, he didn’t want him to be sick, but he could take care of it if he was. Josh gave him a tired smile when he brushed his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling the flush of fevered skin there._

_“Alright then, I know I’m in good hands.” He seemed to finally relax more, settling down into the cushions, pulling out his phone. “I’ll ask someone else to make the haul.”_

_John nodded in satisfaction and left him to send the text. He’d never taken care of someone sick before, but how hard could it be? Fluids, blankets, tissues, he knew that from watching TV at least. He filled up a mug with water and set it beside the couch along with a roll of toilet paper, and started rummaging around the kitchen, shaking his head at the sounds of coughing and Josh blowing his nose—and he’d wanted to go to work like that. What do you feed sick people?_

_He dug around the cabinet, triumphantly coming back holding a can of chicken soup that he wasn’t sure when he’d ever bought. Maybe it had been left here from the last renter. Oh well, it wasn’t like they ever expired. He plopped the contents into a cup and splashed in some water before he microwaved it and carried it over to Josh, sitting own on the coffee table so he could face him._

_“Here.”_

_Josh clasped the mug and took a sip, making a face. “John… that’s disgusting.”_

_“You bastard, I SLAVED over that.”_

_They looked at each other and shared a laugh. It later became a joke repeated between them, but for now John was pleased when Josh ate it anyway and drank some water._

_“See? I’m good at this.”_

_“The best, sweetheart. Come here, hmm? I’m cold.”_

_Josh lifted up the blanket and John slipped into it, carefully settling his weight onto him and resting his head against his chest. Josh’s hand carded through his hair and they spent the day there together, watching movies and resting._

John felt himself getting a little choked up on the memory, blinking back some dampness at his eyes.

“Josh?” he whispered it softly and managed to move his head down, craning his neck so he could push his lips to the top of his head. He startled when the door opened and the man came in again, holding a tray. He was nodded at and the tray was set on the dresser.

“Has he slept the whole time?”

He stared a moment, debating on answering. “I don’t know, I guess.”

“Good.” The man sat again and when he reached for Josh, John wanted to rip him apart. “Brother, you must eat.” The words were spoken with a light squeeze to the back of his neck.

There was a tired moan, the first sound he’d heard Josh make at all, and then he was blinking his eyes open slowly, looking so drained. John couldn’t help but think again about the time he was sick, and how similar it looked now. He wanted to take care of him.

“Josh…”

Those fingers on his stomach fluttered against his skin. “Hey, sweetheart.” The words were low and hoarse. “You ok?”

“Am I— Christ, Josh, look at YOU.”

“I’ll be just fine.”

“You must eat, brother.”

John glared, but Josh made a noise of ascent. The tray was set down on the bed and John could see fried potato slices and patties of fried meat. Thick fingers picked up a slice of browned potato and came far too close to John for his comfort as the bit of food was held against Josh’s lips. He took it between his teeth, chewing slowly.

“What’s going on?” He watched Josh swallow carefully, as if even that pained him, then he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by another piece of food being pushed into his mouth.

“After you have eaten,” the man spoke sternly. “Or you will never heal.”

Josh made another noise of agreement and chewed the piece. The man looked at John.

“Are you hungry?”

He was starving.

“Not for your fingers in my face, I’m not.”

The man chuckled. “I will release your arms for it.” He pulled a key from his pocket and reached over him. John sighed in relief when his arms were released from the cuffs, grunting in pain when he lowered them and the blood flow shifted in his body. Josh made a noise of sympathy and pressed his now slightly greasy lips to his shoulder.

“I would rub them, if I could.”

John didn’t know how to respond. He was free, but it didn’t do him much good with his leg, with Josh unable to move, with this behemoth right beside him carefully sliding pieces of food to Josh’s lips.

He needed to keep up his strength, though, especially with his injuries. He propped himself up slightly on his elbow and reached uncertainly for the tray, popping a bit of potato into his mouth and chewing. It was delicious, hot and perfectly crispy on the outside. He broke off a piece of patty and chewed it. It wasn’t hamburger or sausage like he’d thought; in fact, he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

He paused mid chew at that. Oh god, oh god. He spit it back out into his hand.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

He shook his head, appetite gone. What if they were eating people? Had he just put PEOPLE into his mouth? His stomach churned at the thought.


	10. Chapter 10

He had to at least know. “What… what is that?” He gestured towards the patties.

“Goat,” the man answered.

“Oh fuck, oh thank God.” He sighed in relief.

The man looked at him then a soft laugh emerged from him. “You think that I would feed you human flesh?” The man’s tone sounded entertained at the very notion.

There was a faint snort beside him. “John… that’s disgusting.”

He wasn’t sure if he should choke back laughter or tears at that, possibly both. Josh sounded different now, his voice was slightly different, but he still sounded like Josh, his Josh.

“You bastard,” he returned hesitantly. “He probably SLAVED over that.”

The man made a confused sound but there was a soft chuckle from Josh as his fingers stroked over John’s stomach, tender, loving, and there was another kiss to his shoulder.

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. God, he’d missed him, too. He hesitated before he ran a hand down Josh’s cheek; still the same face, still Josh.

“I missed you, too.”

“Would you care to feed him?”

He was surprised at that, but found himself nodding, breaking off pieces of his own food and pressing them to Josh’s lips, who chewed gratefully and swallowed every morsel. The food seemed to be giving him strength, and by the time they were getting full, Josh was playfully kissing his fingers when they lingered too long near his lips.

There was the rattle of a bottle and John eyed the man, suspicious once more. “What’s that?”

“The medication from your home. You require it to stave off infection, do you not? It would be unwise to miss a dosage; an injury such as yours is at high risk for infection.”

The bottle was placed in his hand and he took it warily, trying to figure out if the pills looked any different, if they’d been tampered with, then wondered why he bothered. The man had jabbed him with a needle when he wanted to drug him, why bother with a pill bottle? He took them along with a swallow of water from a cup on the tray.

“Do you wish the painkillers sent with you, as well?” He shook his head even though his leg was beginning to throb again. They made him woozy and that was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

“Give them to Josh.”

Josh shook his head slightly. “I do not wish them.”

“Josh, don’t be an idiot.”

“I have offered something to ease the pain many a time, you needn’t bother; he never takes them.” The voice sounded almost… scolding.

“This… this isn’t the first time you've been like this,” he realized. All of those scars, how many times had Josh been ripped apart like this by this man who was supposed to be his brother?

Josh’s hand continued to stroke his belly, a finger swirling around his belly button, and he squirmed slightly. “It is not. It is something I need.”

“Need? Who could ever need something like THAT? Jesus, Josh, look at you. You look like a chew toy.”

Josh chuckled softly. “You lie. I am quite handsome.”

“Why do you sound different?” he asked suddenly. “You’re… you’re not even from New Orleans, are you?”

“No, I’m sorry; I was not originally born in your United States, though I have been here for some time.”

“Is… is Josh even your name?” God, it sounded like everything he knew about the man nestled against him was a lie.

“Yes… it was my birth name. It is just not a name I have used for a very long time.

“What name do you use now?”

“My family calls me Barsad, you can call me whatever you like, though, sweetheart.”

“What’s going to happen?” he finally asked the question that kept trying to push out of his lips.

“You are going to stay here with me, John, with us.” Josh—or should he say Barsad?—patted his stomach lightly.

He shook his head quickly. “I can’t, I can’t stay here.” He had to get home and he had to get Josh out of here, too, away from a brother who was apparently prone to torturing him.

The man cleaned up the tray as he spoke, guiding a cup carefully to Josh’s lips and cupping around his mouth to help him take little sips or water. “You cannot be allowed to leave, I am afraid. You know far too many things, John. I will not put my family in jeopardy. This is your home now, as well.”

John shook his head. No fucking way. He’d get out of here and find a way to get Josh out after, if he had to, since he had the feeling it might take more than him to do that. It might take a lot of police and guns, and maybe a bomb or two to get Josh away from his brother.

“I am afraid it is not up for negotiation.”

He considered cursing the man out, but thought about how much he would really like to keep his tongue.

“John, I am sorry; I do not wish to force you to stay, but I’m happy you are here with me.” He sighed. “I thought I had lost you forever. When I heal, I am going to take such good care of you, I promise, nurse that poor leg of yours right back to health.”

God, how could Josh be so sweet and be a killer at the same time? It was just another of the hundreds of things that weren’t making sense in his brain anymore.

“I spoke with our brother. He wished to speak with you when you woke, and our sister insists on coming to see you after her current ritual has completed.”

“They know?” Josh’s tone turned more hesitant, anxious; one of the few times John ever heard him sound like that. He impulsively threaded his fingers into Josh’s hair at it.

“I thought you would rather not tell them yourself.”

“They will be so disappointed…” He hid his face against John’s shoulder and John yanked his hand away from his hair when the other man placed a hand on his head.

“We have all slipped before, my lamb; they understand.”

“It had been so long… I thought I was past it.”

“One day you will be.”

John was so confused. “You slipped? What does that mean?”

“It means he made an unrighteous kill. six, in fact.”

John sucked in a breath. He knew, he knew Josh had killed people, but it was another thing entirely to hear it talked about so bluntly, that the same man who was tucked up against him had blood on his hands.

“So what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that his darkness came onto him too strongly, and he needed to be cleansed.”

He was going to scream if someone didn’t just tell him in plain words what the fuck was going on. “I don’t know what any of that MEANS.”

“Barsad will explain when he is ready.”

“Brother… couldn’t you—”

“I want to hear it from you, Josh.” Fuck if he was going to listen to this guy any more than he had to.

He felt the small sigh against him. “Then I will tell you, soon. It is difficult… to put it into words.”

“Damn right you will, now take some damn pain killers, ok?”

Josh shook his damn head at him. “I wish the pain to linger, as a reminder.”

“That is fucked up. Take them.”

“I am fine.”

“Fine. If you’re not going to take any, then I won’t, either.”

That made Josh tilt his head up slightly to look at him. “John… are you in pain?” He looked upset at the idea.

“Yeah, it hurts like hell, ok? I’m not taking anything for it unless you do, and do you really think you’re going to out-stubborn me on this?”

Josh stared at him a moment then gave him a small, rueful smile. “No, no I don’t. I will take a pill.”

“Damn right, you will,” he grumbled, and then startled at the soft laughter that the exchange got from Josh’s brother.

“I am impressed.”

He made a face but took the pill he was offered, making sure Josh swallowed his down first before taking his own.

“Hey!” he yelled suddenly when his arms were lifted up and re-cuffed without warning.

“I am going out. Barsad is too softhearted with you for me to be convinced you should be unrestrained when I am not present.”

“How the fuck far do you think I’m going to get on this leg?”

Josh’s brother shook his head. “You could get far enough to reach the phone, which I cannot allow.” As he said it, he slipped a cell phone from his pocket and placed it beside Josh. “For if you require me. And call your brother.”

John eyed that phone greedily. How hard would it be to dial 911 with his toes? He looked down at his broken leg with its bare foot and his still-sneakered other foot. Very hard. Not that he knew where he even was.

Josh’s brother just kissed Josh.

On the fucking lips.

John had never been so shocked and angry and confused over a kiss in his life. Brothers do not kiss brothers on the lips. He didn’t have any siblings, but he knew that was a fucking fundamental rule. Yet there they were, Josh even pressing into the kiss a little and sighing softly.

____________________

 “I will not be long.”

Barsad nodded slightly, and the motion did not hurt as badly as before, showing that the food and painkillers were already aiding him. He usually preferred the hurt to linger as he had told John, it kept him immobile and made the dark something distant, but now he realized if he healed faster he could take care of John more quickly, and this was something that made the idea of painkillers more ideal. When his brother left, he looked up at John, not quite expecting the sudden daggers being glared into him. “What is it?”

“The fuck was THAT?”

He had to think a moment. “Do you mean our kiss?”

“YES.” Barsad was surprised at the shock in the tone there, one laced with jealously. He didn’t wish John to be upset, but that jealously made him hopeful, also.

“I did not think it would bother you,” he replied honestly. He’d forgotten the intimacy that he shared with his family was something others were not used to.

“He is your BROTHER, and it looked like you were about to stick your fucking tongue into his MOUTH.”

“…Do you think he is my biological brother?” He smiled a little at that. “Our family is connected by blood, but not as others are; we were not born of the same parents.”

“…Are you cheating on me with your BROTHER!?” The tone was even more shocked, incredulous.

Sometimes it was a struggle to figure out how John’s mind worked; surely the drugs were not helping, at the moment.

“I would never “cheat” on you, sweetheart,” he assured him gently. “I have not been intimate with my brother since our own joining.” That had been a sacrifice on his brother’s part, a testament to how much he cared for Barsad’s emotions.

_“Brother, brother, I cannot,” he whispered, his face flush with arousal as his brother explored his body with his warm hands. He had woken to the wonderful touch of those large hands palming over his ass, kneading into the firm flesh there. It was not unusual, for they often found comfort in each other’s bodies in their shared bed._

_“You are tired?” Warm lips rubbed over the back of his neck and made him shiver with desire, made him wish to lie on his back and open himself for his brother’s body, but he could not._

_“No, it… it is not that, it is John,” he admitted, then felt those hands leave his ass as was turned around to face his brother. He was not quite able to meet his eyes._

_“You will not lie with me because of him?”_

_“It is not… I do not wish to upset him.”_

_His brother made a slight noise of amusement. “He would not know, Barsad.”_

_“I would know… I cannot.”_

_His brother paused and seemed to consider him a moment. “I could force you to find your pleasure in it,” he finally remarked calmly. Barsad nodded in agreement, knowing it to be true, and even then his body sung at the idea of his brother’s touch. He would succumb quickly to it and cry out for him in bliss all the same, but his heart did not wish it._

_He heard a soft sigh and his brother pressed their lips together. “You are as stubborn as they come, at times.”_

_He smiled and hugged around him in response. “Not as stubborn as he.”_

_“That is small comfort now, when I am left without your body.” His voice sounded as plaintive as his brother ever got._

_“Talia will be visiting next week, or perhaps our brother would wish to come visit sooner,” he offered helpfully._

_“They are not you, Barsad. I hungry for you each differently. I do not like the thought of our bodies no longer joining.”_

_“Nor I,” he admitted. “But I cannot.”_

_A hand cupped his cheek and he was pulled in for a long, wet kiss, one that made him whimper with need and desperately seek out his brother’s tongue to play. He was pulled back, flushed once more and panting._

_“You will not deny me our kiss.”_

_He nodded quickly at that. It was an allowance that he felt himself unable to give up._

_“Good.”_

_He was worried slightly that he would be made to leave his brother’s bed, but he was turned back around and held fast until they both found their rest again._


	11. Chapter 11

“But you were before?” John questioned him. Oh, jealousy shone in those lovely eyes.

“Yes, I ceased to be so for you, John. I did not wish to upset you.”

“Really? I mean, really? You fucking kill people, but you’re worried that I’d get hurt by you cheating on me?”

John was laughing. Barsad raised an eyebrow, not certain if he should join in.

“Are you alright?”

John closed his eyes and nodded, still chuckling. “Yeah, I mean… fuck no, but yeah. It’s just… you’re kind of crazy, you know that, right?”

He snorted slightly. “Yes… I am aware.”

There was a long pause, and then they started laughing together. It was painful to do so, emotionally and physically for both, but they found they could not stop once started and true tears of mirth were falling from his eyes soon. John was much the same, and when they finally stopped, Barsad carefully eased himself onto John’s body more, resting his head on his chest.

“Jesus Christ, this is all fucking nuts, Josh, I swear to God…”

He hummed softly in agreement, listening to John’s heartbeat, slow, steady, beautiful. “Just know that I would never hurt you, sweetheart.”

“Why not? Why me?” John whispered, and there was a clink of handcuffs. He knew John wanted to touch him, and he relaxed more at the thought.

“When I saw you first, I wanted to kill you,” he admitted, hearing the heart under his chest thud faster for a moment. “Or I thought I did; I had never felt suddenly drawn to another, but I was compelled by you.”

“Christ, and there I was offering to take you into a back alley so you could do it, too,” John realized out loud. “You could have killed me right then.”

“I would not have. I knew the moment our eyes met that I could never kill you, sweetheart,” He promised it again, willing John to believe him.

“That’s… the creepiest, most romantic thing you’ve ever said, thanks.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I… fuck me. I really do.” He sounded disbelieving at himself. Barsad felt relieved. He didn’t want John to ever be afraid of him.

“I am glad.”

“I really hate your brother, though. I don’t want to be here.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He did know. His intellect wasn’t as softened by John as his brother believed. He knew John would still try to run, given the chance, but he also now knew John wouldn’t try to do it without taking him with him. It felt wonderful to know that John couldn’t give him up, either.

They were quiet for a time after that, both feeling the effects of medication, and Barsad was more than content to be able to rest with John. Eventually, however, he heard the slight clinking of chains more often than not, and felt John shifting under him.

“I’m fucking bored,” he finally complained, and Barsad chuckled; he should have known. John had such trouble sitting still, and his poor sweetheart had probably been doing so much sitting still lately.

“Would you like me to dance to entertain you?”

“Jerk.”

“Handjob?”

“…You don’t have that kind of energy,” John countered warily.

Barsad chuckled. “Probably not,” he admitted. “You might in fact die if I lost the energy half way through.”

John glared. “Don’t even joke like that, you monster.”

“When I get better, I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I’ll be well enough to move in a few days, but you will still need to be in bed and remain still… I suppose I will have to use my mouth to keep you occupied and see to your needs.”

He smiled at the little shudder John gave under him. “Jesus Christ, don’t talk about it NOW,” he groaned out miserably. “You’ve got me hard.”

“I have often found that to not be a difficult task.”

“You asshole, aren’t you supposed to be wooing me over to your side or something?”

“To my side?” he asked, puzzled. “In what way?”

“I don’t know, trying to convince me to kill with you or something.”

He could feel his own face darken. “I would never wish such a thing for you. Never.”

John seemed to sense his sudden mood shift. “Oh. I… why do you fucking do it, then?”

“Because I must, because I am compelled to. There is darkness inside of me, and if I do not feed it,” he shuddered, forcing himself to take a breath, “then I am lost in it; my head screams, and I slip, and I cannot be controlled.”

“What does slipping really mean, Josh?”

“It means… it means that I kill everything in my path. I do not think, or feel. I am only a monster until the darkness bubbles out of me, when enough blood has spilled.”

John swore softly. “Fuck, I… what about like, medication?”

“How would you think I would have it prescribed? Shall I go to the doctor and describe such symptoms?” He shook his head. “I have tried drugs, drugs to drown out those feelings, they do not help, and some only worsen it.”

“Josh…” His tone was so soft, so full of sympathy, of hurt, like he hurt for him. Barsad wished he could ease him.

“It is better now, than it was. My brother found me; he showed me how to control it.”

“By the ‘righteous kill’ he kept mentioning?”

“Yes. Some people deserve to die.”

“So, you, what? Justify it?”

“We study them, decide if it is righteous, and end them if it is.”

“Christ, you can’t just go choosing who lives and who dies!”

“What would you have me do?” he asked in all seriousness. “If I do not, the darkness overcomes me. I am left with no better options than to end my life.”

He felt John’s body jerk under him. “Don’t you DARE. Don’t you ever fucking even THINK about it!”

“Shh, John, I would not. I would not,” he promised. “I have long ago let go of such ideas. My brother keeps me on the path; even though we are tainted, we have purpose in this world.”

“As fucking grim reapers.”

“As shadows, to end the borrowed time those less deserving are living on.”

John hesitated. “Like… like who?”

“There are many: those who kill for fun; those who ruin children; others who abuse their money and power. Many do not deserve to breathe the same air with beings so precious as yourself.”

“That is still fucked up, and I’m not fucking precious.”

Barsad smiled and was about to argue when the phone chimed softly beside him.

He glanced at the identification and bit back a pained groan when he answered it and it up to his ear. “Brother, I was to call you.”

There was an amused noise on the other end of the line. “And how long would you have waited?”

“Until everyone had perhaps forgotten I was to do so,” he admitted.

There was a short laugh in his ear and then the tone went softer. “Are you alright, Barsad?”

“I am well,” he assured, “and I am sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I feel it is you that I must apologize to the most; you feel the most strongly about such things.”

“I’ll admit… I felt pretty let down, Barsad; you’d gone so long without it happening.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, feeling guilt rise in his chest. His brother was the most strict among them about the righteous kill. He refused to kill unless he was certain that his prey had actually killed another. Mere corruption or abuse was not enough for him to facilitate, so for Barsad to have killed others without discrimination, it would upset him.

“Barsad.” His brother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I’m not angry, ok? I know there’s more to you than that. You struggle worse than any of us.”

“Can you forgive me?” he asked softly.

“Already done,” His brother promised.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” John asked over his head in confusion.

“…Who is that?” His brother asked, his own tone curious, as well.

“…He didn’t tell you?” Of course he didn’t. His brother was going to make him explain John to them. “That is my John.”

He felt John’s body shift under him a little and glanced up to see him making a face and mouthing the words ‘my John.’ He couldn’t help but grin in response, his mood lightening. Yes, his John.

“John, your John?” His tone sounded mildly surprised.

“He knows… it is a long story.”

“Well, I insist on hearing it, in person, tomorrow.”

Barsad wanted to groan. “That is not needed.”

“I’ll bring the wine. Are you going to tell our brother, or do I need to call him?”

“You are over-protective.”

His brother simply hummed in amusement. “Will John be coming?”

“I do not think he has much choice in the matter.”

“I’ll see you at 8.” The phone went to its dial tone.

_______________

Josh refused to explain much more, promising that he would see tomorrow. John liked surprises and all, but not any of the ones he’d been getting lately, so he really wished he had a little more to go on.

 Ok, fine, one pleasant surprise was that the painkillers were making Josh feel well enough to scoot up his body more and press their lips together. That was a surprise he could live with. He sagged against the bed more and returned the kiss frantically the second he felt Josh’s lips on his own. The angle was more than terrible and the back of his neck started to ache almost immediately from how far he had to lean forward and pull on his arms, but, God, he was kissing Josh again and he didn’t want to stop for anything.

He gasped out softly when Josh nipped at his bottom lip and then made a pleased noise, taking advantage to lick over his lips and into his mouth, over his teeth, re-familiarizing himself with John’s mouth and how easy it was to make his head swim with his kisses. They were pressed so tightly that his beard was pushing roughly against John’s cheek, and sometimes John swore that was exactly why the man never shaved it, not after John had complained once about feeling those brush burns on his face all day and being stuck thinking about them making out during all of his classes, jerk.

“Josh, God,” he breathed out between their kissing. “God I just… I missed you so bad.”

Josh shushed him softly and kept kissing him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, until everything else that was going on was far away and distant, completely unimportant.

He barely heard the screaming.

When he did, though, he snapped his head back, looking around. “What… what the fuck is that?”

“My brother is home,” Josh explained, not meeting his eyes.

“He… oh Jesus.” He yanked on his chains. That’s what Josh’s brother had been going out for; how could he have been stupid enough not to realize? There was someone in this house right now, someone who was going to die. “Josh, let me out of these!”

“John.” His cheek was cupped gently and he pulled away from it even as Josh tried to soothe him.

“No, let me GO, Josh, you can’t just, I can’t just lie here while someone fucking DIES!”

“It is a righteous kill.”

“No, no, what did they fucking do, jaywalk? You can’t just, you CAN’T, Josh!” This was too much. “Just, just take off the cuffs; let me call the police, please, PLEASE!”

Josh just looked at him and gave a small shake of his head.

“Goddamn it, Josh, Goddamn it!” He pulled so hard on the cuffs that the bedframe rattled wildly now, he could feel his skin being ripped into, felt his wrists becoming slippery.

He could still hear screaming. God, it sounded shriller now, like someone was out of their minds with fear and pain. His arms were trembling now; he knew that that was like, he’d lived that, but he only thought he was going to die, this person was going to be ripped apart by a monster.

Rustle. Plop. The sounds echoed in his brain. They weren’t there, yet, but they would be there. Rustle. Plop. An eyeless head, a soundless scream, falling and snapping and hurting. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Josh cupped his cheeks and he wanted to pull away but he just couldn’t, not when Josh covered his ears and blocked out those screams for him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block everything out completely. It didn’t help, he could still hear it, he could still fucking hear it.

“John, John!”

Then there were two people screaming. He could hear them both now. Josh couldn’t block them both out, and he felt like he was going to throw up. God, he wanted them to stop screaming. Josh’s nails dug into the side of his face, making him open his eyes and he was mouthing something desperately to him, God he looked so worried. So was John, of course he was, someone was DYING. He wanted to yell at Josh for worrying about him and not that, but his mouth wouldn’t move like he wanted it to, it was open wide and he realized that maybe he knew where the second scream came from. Knowing something and being able to stop it were two different things, though, and he couldn’t; he couldn’t stop screaming.

Josh finally shoved a hand over his mouth and he bit down onto it desperately, wanting to make those noises stop. They needed to stop. With Josh’s hand gone from his ear, the screams were loud again, and he dug his teeth into Josh’s skin, willing them to just go away.

_______________

“Shh, shh, John. John, I have you. You’re safe, I promise, I promise, sweetheart,” he repeated again and again. He didn’t even flinch about his hand, he could barely feel it, whatever helped John. He never wanted to hear him scream like that again, mindlessly, like he was being terrorized. He pressed in close, his body covering John’s now, laying over him, his own pain forgotten with the rush of adrenaline spiking through his body. He had known this would be hard, but he had never gauged it would be this hard. It was easy to forget how people not living in darkness reacted to such things.

Mercifully, the screams from the purging room stopped. It was a surprise, usually his brother drew such things out, his preferred ritual taking time, but it was a blessing. He tried to soothe John gently with his free hand, stroking over his cheek. “It’s over, sweetheart, it’s over; it’s alright, now,” he promised, and it was. John seemed to nearly collapse in relief, and Barsad with him.

All that was left was cleanup. He could hear the rustle of a tarp being shaken out to collect parts, the soft plop of those parts being tossed onto it. John suddenly shook under him. He was pale as the dead, his pupils dilated so far that Josh could no longer see the ring of brown around them. He hyperventilated around his hand, and Josh felt at his wit’s end. He did not know how to help. He thought of calling for his brother, but felt the sight of him might set John off further.

He grabbed the phone and tossed it across the room so that it could not be reached from the bed, and took from his pocket the key his brother had discreetly slipped into it out of John’s view when they kissed. It had been done with the unspoken warning that he was being entrusted to only unlock John in the event of an extreme emergency. His fingers shook slightly as he unlocked the cuffs, and the moment the cuffs fell, John’s arms with around him, bruisingly tight. He grunted in pain as he was crushed to John’s body, but he wrapped around him, soothed him gently as he was clung to with the sort of fear that came only from the darkest of nightmares.

“Josh, Josh.” He could hear his John’s voice so thin and scared against his ear. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead.”

“I’m not, I’m not dead at all, sweetheart, I promise. I’m right here with you, I promise.” He promised John again and again, that it was alright, that he was right there with him, that he wouldn’t leave. He babbled the words in his ear until finally the tight grip around him seemed to be wearing down. He dared to pull back enough to look at John’s eyes, seeing recognition in them once more. He sighed in relief and pressed his own forehead against John’s, feeling the cold sweat there.

“Sorry,” John whispered, his voice sounding small and scratchy still.

“It’s alright, sweetheart; no one said this was going to be easy.”


	12. Chapter 12

Bane stopped in his work when he heard another set of lungs burst into song through the ceiling tiles above his head. It was muffled beneath his mask, but so loud he could hear it when it joined the din. Whoever it was sung out beautifully, but it was most distracting from his task. The creature beneath him was only just beginning to be wet with blood now as it writhed beneath his foot. He had just started on it, its hands and arms across the room, where they would never commit the vile act of abusing a child again; its tongue would follow soon, so that it could no longer lie. There was a burn in the air from the cauterizing of wounds. It would never do for the loss of blood to keep Bane from delivering justice.

Those sweet screams, though, they were most distracting. They made the worm’s tune that lay beneath him sound sharp and unpleasant by comparison. He wondered if it was his brother, but shook away the idea. His John, then; his brother’s lover sang like a bird, pleasant and sweet, but it was sure to be upsetting his brother. He sighed and considered the creature beneath him. He would hasten the cleansing, not out of mercy for it, but of sympathy towards his brother. He grabbed up its filthy hair, lifting it into the air as its mouth gaped open at him. Vomit and drool clung to its face; it was vile, and its end deserved to be the same. He held it fast in his hands and brought his own face down in a rough slam, bashing the creature’s skull into his mask, feeling the screams and slams echoing off his mask as he repeated the motion again and again until red blocked his vision, sticky blood wet his eyes, bits of bone and brain clung to the grates of his mask, into the spiderlike coils, until the creature simply ceased to be, a lifeless thing in his arms. He tossed it away and ran a gloved hand over his eyes and mask, flicking away bits of gore. Even a hasty kill could be made satisfying with effort.

The singing above his head had stopped, and that seemed almost a shame; it would have been pleasant to listen to while he cleaned. He worked in silence instead, spreading out a tarp and making neat, efficient work of cutting up the body for disposal. It was a task that mostly disinterested him. Aftercare was different for all of them; Barsad liked to play like a curious boy dissecting a frog every time, Talia would enjoy herself at times in the play of the blood, and their brother, well, there was usually little of his victims that remained beyond pulp when he finished with his bat. Bane however equated the aftermath as one might take out the trash, an uninteresting chore, but necessary.

He wrapped the parcels neatly, ensuring that nothing would leak or drip, and tucked them into the large walk-in freezer so that they could be disposed of at a later time when things were less turbulent. He removed his mask and set it into the work sink, becoming brother once more, and looked upwards towards the ceiling. It was troublesome that Barsad’s John had been so upset; he recognized that more now with the mask removed. He would simply move his kills from the house temporarily, but the workshop Barsad had set up for himself was no longer safe. Perhaps he would ask to join their brother in his own kills, if the need was great.

He unwrapped the large rain slicker from his form and hung it up to hose off later, then tossed his gloves off. The rest of cleanup could wait until things were more settled. He grabbed a damp towel and walked up the stairs, wiping at his eyes and his wrists where coat and glove did not quite meet. He quietly opened the door to Talia’s bedroom as he cleaned, taking in the scene of his brother wrapped tightly around his John, the boy clinging to him weakly, panting, like a little cub.

“What can I do to assist?”

The boy’s body jerked at his voice and he stared at him, body tightening. “You, you stay the fuck away!”

“You are upset because I have killed. This is something that you will need to become accustomed to,” he pointed out reasonably. “How may I assist in this?”

“You—” John choked out “How can you even—”

“It is alright, brother—”

“It is not,” he disagreed, surveying Barsad’s body. “You have many opened wounds from his handling and your moving too soon to ease him. They will need to soak to decrease the risk of infection.”

John pulled back finally and looked at Barsad’s body, swearing when he realized there was blood on his hands from holding so tightly. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Josh!”

“Shh, I am fine.”

He shook his head and walked over to the bed. “You will soak in the tub.”

John made a soft noise when he drew closer, his fingers tried to hold onto Barsad when he lifted him into his arms.

“I want to go with him!”

“There is no room for you in the bathroom, not with your cast,” he pointed out, and held his brother to him carefully as he carried him out of the room and through their own bedroom into the connecting bathroom. He filled the tub with warm water and salt, hoping to leech out potential infections. Barsad sighed when he was lowered into it. The water pinked slightly and he ran a hand through Barsad’s hair.

“He was so frightened…”

“Worry for yourself, brother.”

Barsad nodded and let his head fall back onto the edge of the tub. “It feels wonderful, thank you.”

“Rest, try not to drown in it.”

A small smiled pulled at his brother’s lips. “I will try to refrain.” He paused, then. “His wrists are injured.”

“I will see to them.”

His brother nodded, relaxing more at that and closing his eyes. He decided he would keep him there until the water went cold, and perhaps fill it once more with hot for good measure if his brother’s John was going to cause such mayhem. He gathered up bandages and cleaning supplies, going back into Talia’s room where the boy sat on the bed, hugging his arms to himself and looking so very small and young in comparison to when he yelled and cursed. His eyes flicked up in fear.

“I will not hurt you simply because Barsad is in another room.”

He was not given a response, and so he simply sat on the edge of the bed with the supplies. John jerked in surprise. “I must bandage your wrists.”

“They’re fine.” He glanced down at them and self-consciously tried to put them to his sides where they were less visible.

“Your body is already at high risk for infection, and you have also proven to not have the most fortunate of luck. Do you wish to press the issue further?”

John opened his mouth in surprise then snapped it shut. He simply moved closer and took up one of his wrists, ignoring the nervous breathing he received when he spread a clean towel over his knee and laid the wrist on it. He gently wiped away the blood there with a clean wipe, being as thorough but careful as he would with any of his family. This seemed to surprise John; he suspected that, before Barsad, this boy had not received much tenderness in his life; he could understand why he was so taken with his brother, whose temperament was so gentle and giving.

He took the other wrist and cleaned it as the first, then wrapped them both in clean cotton. When he finished, he brought them up and placed a chaste kiss to them as an afterthought, something he did often when bandaging the cuts and aches of his family. There was a startled intake of breath from the action.

“They are not deep, they will heal quickly.”

“Where’s Josh?”

“He is in the bathroom; he will be in there for some time to soak.”

“He’ll…” He watched as John bit lightly at his lower lip in distress. “I didn’t mean to open up his cuts. He’ll be ok?”

“The saltwater will help, and I will give him an antibiotic. He will most likely be fine, but let us make sure such a thing does not happen again.”

“I didn’t, I can’t. You fucking KILLED someone just now, right now, like 10 minutes ago.”

“Yes.”

“10 minutes ago there was a person in this house alive and now they’re dead.”

“Yes.”

John wrapped his now bandaged arms around himself and shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m—I’m fucking scared as shit.”

Such language. He made a noise of disapproval; it was not his to correct, though, not truly. “I wish for this not to happen again. What triggered it?”

He was stared at with disbelieving eyes. “What tr—You fucking KILLED someone.”

“Yes, and your screams were more than just anguish over the death of someone you had not met nor ever even seen. Do you think that, as I am, I would not know the difference in a scream? You have had an experience, something that was triggered. It is not uncommon after a trauma. Was it the accident?” He gestured to his leg questioningly.

John swallowed nervously. His eyes became unfocused, and he suspected that they had come to the heart of the matter. He calmly snapped his fingers in front of the boys eyes, the loud noise bringing focus back to him.

“It was almost me,” the words came out in a rush. “I found the warehouse; I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know, I didn’t know it was Josh, but I heard those noises, I saw the body.” His breathing quickened. “I thought, I thought when I fell, when I heard Josh’s phone, I thought Josh was dead.”

He nodded in understanding and tilted his head thoughtfully before bringing his hand up to cup the boy’s chin. He squirmed in discomfort but faced him, his eyes dilated still and his face paling. “The sounds made you experience a flashback.”

“I-I guess.”

“It would be foolish of me to try and soothe you by assuring you such a thing will not happen again. It will happen again, and will most likely be a frequent occurrence.”

John made a confused noise. “That’s… that’s pretty awful, thanks.”

He could not hold back an amused chuckle. “I speak only the truth. However, desensitization is how one often approaches such things. I will wait until Barsad is healed slightly more before the next kill, so it will be safer to cling to him during it. In time, you will most likely grow better able to cope with such things.” He paused a moment to think about it. “Or you will perhaps lose your mind.”

 “That… that’s not comforting at all,” John whispered, sounding horrified.

“The truth often is not,” he agreed and rubbed a thumb over the boy’s cheek, feeling the nervous twitch of his jaw. “However, when you are in your right mind, you must simply remember that no harm will come to you, here.”

“Josh wouldn’t let you hurt me.” His eyes were bright with determination at that, they sparked. He felt it would be a shame to extinguish it by informing the boy that, if it were truly to come to it, Barsad could never save him from Bane whether he wished it or not. Sometimes a lie was a pleasant thing.

“He would not,” he found himself agreeing. “But that is not the only reason you do not need to fear. I will simply not hurt you any more than I would hurt another member of my family.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen what you’ve done to him. So that’s not real comforting.”

“You mean the cleansing. Do you think I wish to do that, to make him ache so? He has explained to you its reason, has he not? I do it for his own sake, so he can live with himself.”

John’s eyes left his at that, and when he pulled his hand back the boy stared down at his own hands in uncertainty. He was suddenly struck with the idea that this was another lost little lamb in this big city of wolves; Gotham and cities like it created such despairing creatures. It was no wonder that his brother was able to live here and never have trouble finding a righteous kill, even when Barsad and he hunted.

“He can’t help it, he really can’t help it, can he?”

“He cannot, no. It is a part of him.”

“I just, I wish I could help him.” He made a wistful noise. “I wish I could be enough so that he didn’t have to do that, to feel like that.”

He felt compelled to put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bone and warm skin there beneath his thin t-shirt. “You have helped him. He used to slip often. This was the first he has slipped since he met you, and it was brought on by extreme circumstance, something that will not happen again, I imagine.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“You are not being given an option, and if you were, I am not blind. You do not wish to leave him. Do you really think he would leave me? When we are family? When he knows I am the only one who can reel him in when he has fallen from the path?”

Oh, brown eyes looked at him filled with hurt at that. The notion that one person was all another needed to see them through every part of their life, the idea of romantic love, of one soul mate for eternity, it was such a pervasive idea in this country. He had been taught differently, however, that people were not halves to wholes. Many people, like his family, were broken up, splintered into shards, and it was only those collected pieces that could form a whole thing. John was a piece of their broken puzzle, he could recognize that now. He did not have their darkness, but perhaps that was not always needed.

“Do not despair. He loves you deeply.” He rubbed a hand over John’s shoulder. Perhaps the boy could feel what he was in that moment, the forming of a connection, because he did not shy away. “If there was only one person whose love could be enough to fix him, then it would indeed be you, but such is not how the world works.”

John closed his eyes at that and nodded. He brought his hand up and brushed some wetness gathering at the boy’s eyelashes. “You should rest further; you are heavily injured, as well.”

“I can’t.” He let out a small defeated sigh. “I can’t sleep alone, anymore,” he admitted. “In the hospital, they had to give me pills for it, and even then I usually only fell asleep when a nurse was checking on me.”

He took in John’s tired broken body. The only sleep the boy could have been getting was through the use of drugs, hardly something that provided true rest. It was no wonder he had been triggered earlier, it was somewhat a wonder that something did not cause an attack sooner for the boy while he was still in the hospital.

“Alright.” He made a decision and reached for the boy, lifting him up carefully into his arms, working to keep his cast still.

“H-hey!”

“Hush, now.”

He was amused as he was clung to, as though the boy was scared he would be dropped, as though he had not carried him inside, as though he had not carried many a body heavier than this one.

“Don’t fucking drop me,” was mumbled against his neck, and fingers dug into his back.

“I would not.” He carried the boy to their room. He could hear the soft noise of Barsad shifting in the tub at their entering the room, but he did not call out; he hoped it meant that he was truly relaxing now. He lowered the boy onto their bed, noting the confused sound he made. “This is Barsad’s room and my own.”

“You… share a room?”

“My brother cannot sleep alone, either, so I understand your own need, as well. You will rest here. I will guard your sleep as I do his.”

John blinked up at him, looking torn, sleepy eyed.

“What better to guard your rest than a monster who will not harm you?” he added, pleased at the snort he received. He sat down beside John and made short work of pulling the boy’s shirt off of him, tossing it into the hamper, ignoring the started squawk of protest when he carefully rolled the boys sweatpants down and off from the cast, leaving him in his boxers. “You will sleep better.”

“Yeah, half naked in your bed,” the boy muttered, and he chuckled, stripping off his own shirt, laying out onto the bed with a groan.

“You’re… you’re going to lie down, too?”

“I am tired, as well.”

“How come you get to keep YOUR pants?”

“I wear nothing beneath them.”

The strangled noise coming from John’s throat was most entertaining. “I assume you would rather me keep them on.”

“YES. Yes, ok?”

He laughed lightly and turned onto his side, considering the slender boy beside him before he moved closer to him, enough so that their warmth could be felt against one another’s skin, then he placed a hand over him so that his arm lay across his chest, his hand curling around the boy’s shoulder. He felt the nervous flutter of the boy’s body beneath him and he rubbed his shoulder in return. “Find your rest.”

He could feel how much John wanted to argue the idea, but he could also feel the relaxing of muscles under his hand, tension easing, and he knew he would not be asked to move. This boy needed to feel safe, secure, and he did not mind providing that for his newest family member. It was not long before John’s eyelids were drooping, his nose twitching up into a little wrinkle when he soothed a finger over his brow. He laid a gentle kiss there, hearing the soft sigh of response, the steady rise of fall of John’s chest in peaceful sleep.

He would not find his own rest until Barsad joined them, but he lent his warm to John, instead, and took his hand when the fingers there started to twitch nervously, petting them until they stilled and the peacefulness returned again. When he retrieved his damp brother, he got a tired smile and a grateful look at the sight of John laid out on their bed. They did not speak so as not to wake him, but between them words were rarely needed. Instead, he redressed Barsad’s wounds, reapplying ointments and forcing some antibiotics onto him along with a glass of water.

He laid him out beside John then, helping him tuck up close to the boy. Bane considered a moment before he lay on John’s other side, noting the surprise in his brother’s eyes and the pleased look.

“He is our brother now, is he not?”

“Yes, thank you, brother.” Barsad sounded touched, and they slept together with John between them to keep away his nightmares.


	13. Chapter 13

John slept through the entire night, then the morning, and then possibly some of the afternoon, too. He awoke bleary-eyed to Josh’s gentle prodding at his shoulder.

“You need your medicine, sweetheart; you can sleep again after, ok?”

He croaked out what could have possibly been an “Ok” from his hoarse throat, and then opened his mouth for the pill and a cup of water that followed, his head being carefully held as he swallowed. Josh stroked his cheek and that was enough to get him feeling sleepy again.

“S’nice,” he mumbled out, his head being lowered back down to the pillow. Josh hummed in agreement and they dozed a little more, so many restless nights making it easy to drift in and out, making his body long for more rest. It felt so good to just be able to sleep again. Josh’s hand was on his belly, rubbing lightly, another was in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He wondered a little at the angling, Josh shouldn’t be sitting up; maybe his brother was touching him, too. That probably should have frightened him. Josh’s brother was bad, but technically so was Josh, and last night when he’d been so fucking tired and near out of his head from the after effects of his flashback, Josh’s brother had taken care of him, hadn’t made him sleep alone.

It wasn’t a good idea to let a serial killer pet your head, and it probably wasn’t moral, either, but John had never once claimed to be a good person, had he? He just wanted a little more peace and quiet, just a little more rest before he dealt with this; not that he was sure even how he could do that. He had no idea how to get out or how to get Josh to go with him, or if getting Josh to go with him was even a good idea to begin with. The thought of leaving without Josh…

He reached out and held onto the slender fingers rubbing his stomach, relived when they squeezed his hand in response.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Josh’s voice sounded sleepy and that made John sleepy again in turn, making the entire afternoon a total wash, too.

He finally roused enough to wake later, rubbing away the gummy mess in his eyes. “Nn, time is it?”

“Nearly four.”

When his eyes were able to focus, they fell onto Josh’s brother’s large form as he sat pressed up beside John with a book balanced over his knee, a hand in John’s hair. He was still rubbing small circles into the skin there.

“Have you been here the whole time?” He winced when further talking made the words catch in his throat like gravel.

“I left to make us lunch, do you not remember?”

“…I ate lunch?” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember, perhaps vaguely recalling a warm mug in his hands and being guided into drinking, a soothing hot broth soothing over his scream-torn throat. “…Soup?” he guessed.

“Soup,” the man agreed.

John looked to his left and saw Josh still curled to his side. He looked a little better than yesterday, despite all of his injuries. His face looked healthier, like it had more color in it, even if his beard was starting to get kind of shaggy. He ran his fingers through it, smiling a little. He probably had his own stubble going on, even though it took him longer to grow facial hair than he ever cared to admit.

“Did he eat, too?”

“Of course.” His tone was a bit preoccupied, if a little amused that John would bother to ask. His hand was still in John’s hair, though, and he wasn’t sure if he should tell him to take it out. He wasn’t sure what the answer would even be. So he settled back in again.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do about how quiet the room was now. There was just the soft, steady sound of Josh’s breathing, interrupted on occasion by the quiet brush of a page turning. Oh yeah, and he had to pee pretty badly actually, but he had already decided he was just going to hold that for the rest of his life. He willed Josh to wake up a little in his mind. He couldn’t actually wake him, he needed sleep and that would be mean, but some mental prodding didn’t really count.

“You are fidgeting,” the man reading commented mildly.

“Sorry…” He hadn’t meant to, he just didn’t really know what to do with himself.

There was another page or two turned before Josh’s brother closed the book carefully and turned a bit, seeming to be considering him. “You have not gone back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore.” He wasn’t sure if he should be defensive or not, he couldn’t just order his body to sleep. “I wasn’t trying to interrupt you.”

“I simply thought you would, so I did not disturb you. Do you have to relieve yourself?”

Oh, well that was embarrassing.

He shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I would ask that you do not wet the bed.”

“I’m not going to piss myself, thanks.” He glared. “If I had my crutches I could get to the bathroom myself.”

“I did not think to bring them when I moved you. I will see about getting you a pair when you are better rested. I imagine you would hurt yourself spectacularly with them now.”

“You… you’re kind of an asshole.”

“You have the luck of a black cat, a dead one; perhaps it is wise I take precautions.” He placed the book onto a small table beside the bed. John glanced at the title, ‘An Anthology of Philosophy in Persia,’ weird. John hadn’t been aware people willingly read those kinds of books. “Are you certain you do not wish to use the bathroom? I plan on preparing dinner soon and you will most likely feel more embarrassed at the notion of shouting across the house for me to take you when your will finally gives out.”

Asshole.

“Fine. FINE.” He groaned in embarrassment as he was lifted up. The first time he’d been drugged out of his fucking skull, the second time he’d been too worried about getting dropped, but this time it was just mortifying to know how easy he was for this man to pick up even with the added weight of his cast. This was the kind of guy who could probably lift him up in the air and snap his back or something with ease. He was carried into the bathroom and in front of the toilet, strong hands holding onto his hips as he shifted his shorts down. He willed himself not to think about it and had never been more grateful that he’d never been particularly pee shy, because this was making even his bladder question some things.

“Do you wish to shower?”

“That… that sounds amazing, actually, but I don’t want to get my leg wet.”

“I’m sure something can be rigged.” He was guided to sit on the downturned toilet lid and left alone. He was surprised when the man came back with a stool and some other supplies. He supposed he really shouldn’t be surprised that a serial killer’s home had an endless supply of plastic sheeting and duct tape. He didn’t want to think about that too much, or how handy this guy was with it. He soon had a neatly wrapped up, waterproof cast, and was having his boxers pulled off, with some protesting there, and then was being lowered onto the stool inside of the tub.

Then hot water, oh glorious hot water. It’d been so long since he’d been able to shower. He might have moaned out loud as it cascaded over his head. In fact, he probably did judging by the chuckle he heard when Josh’s brother left the bathroom after telling him to call when he was ready to come out, which was never, by the way. He worked the now-wet cotton off of his wrists and washed up carefully, avoiding stitches and possibly making a shampoo mohawk but there were no witnesses who could prove it.

After he was cleaned up, he tilted his head up and enjoyed the feeling of hot water running over his forehead and eyes, clearing away the slight grogginess still there. He realized after a moment he was hearing the sink running also.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I was going to help my brother bathe. I would ask if you wish to assist, but I feel you will be spending the rest of the day in the shower.”

It only took a moment for him to turn the shower knobs off. “I can be done.” He could totally handle helping bathe Josh.

“I will be back in a moment, then.”

He didn’t appreciate the naked handling. Well, there was a towel involved, but it was really awkward for him, perhaps more so when Josh’s brother briskly scrubbed a dry towel over his head like he was a toddler just out of the bath, but he was on the bed now, and Josh was awake. He scooted carefully over him and was pulled in for a kiss, Josh’s hands threaded into his hair, and he sighed at the feeling before he sat back up. “Morning.”

“It is late afternoon, so I hear,” Josh remarked. “You smell nice; you used my shampoo, I like that.”

John glanced over at Josh’s brother and laughed suddenly. “Who else’s shampoo would I use, HIS?”

They snorted with laughter together and Josh shoved playfully at his arm. “Our siblings keep such things here for when they visit.”

He sobered instantly. “Are they… do that… like you do?”

“They share the darkness inside of them,” Josh confirmed.

“Jesus,” he breathed out. “An entire fucking house full of serial killers.” This was probably the most incredibly terrifying story in Gotham. Journalists would sell their souls for this kind of story, detectives could become famous over cracking this sort of case, and real crime writers would end up on best seller lists.

And here he was just sitting here, living it, watching a little numbly as Josh’s brother ran a damp cloth down Josh’s arms, cleaning up the scabbing cuts with care, removing and changing bandages, checking stitches.

“Would you hold his head for me?”

He nodded a little and carefully supported Josh’s head, watching as his brother washed it with the basin of water. It was a little mesmerizing, just how gentle those hands could be when they were so large and calloused looking. He thought about the gentle kiss that had been placed to his bandaged wrists the night before. It was uncomfortable to think that this man could be a lot like Josh. He knew he was being as biased and hypocritical as anything, but Josh he had grown to love before he knew about this horrible secret, and it made his actions now look different.

He nearly dropped Josh’s head down into the basin when his brother leaned down and kissed him. He was absolutely not going to get used to that.  He was trying to work out how to phrase, ‘Uhm, if you could not kiss my boyfriend, especially not while I’m holding up his head?’ That was reasonable, right? A perfectly reasonable request to make of a serial killer.


	14. Chapter 14

His breath caught a little at the low moan that left Josh’s throat when his brother bit down softly on his lower lip, catching it between crooked teeth and pulling on it until it popped back looking redder and wet from his brother’s mouth. That, that should absolutely not have made him feel flushed and hot inside in a span of milliseconds. Christ, Josh’s brother’s lips were kind of fucking insane, actually, now that he watched them kissing over Josh’s. Any minute now he was going to think of a way to phrase his request to stop kissing his boyfriend.

Oh well, Josh’s brother was pulling back now at least, rubbing a hand under Josh’s chin. John felt a pang of jealously at the way Josh craned his head back slightly, like a cat getting scratched just right.

“Ah, Tommy…” The words were sighed out softly, and it took John a moment to realize he’d never even known the other man’s name. Tommy didn’t really sound much like a serial killer’s name, but then neither did Josh; that’s probably why journalists were always thinking of weird shit to call them.

Tommy continued to stroke down Josh’s neck. His tone was low, teasing, and he hadn’t pulled back far from Josh, so John almost couldn’t hear the words whispered against Josh’s cheek. “I can taste your John on your lips.”

His heart definitely skipped a beat at that, maybe twice when Josh murmured softly in agreement, “He is very sweet, is he not?”

This… this was not happening.  

The wash basin was pushed aside carefully by Tommy, still a weird name, and John was more than happy to be able to lay Josh’s head down on the mattress, not expecting to be pulled down for another kiss, but not quite able to bring himself to not return it, not when he was still reminded every time they kissed that he had thought they never would again. Josh stroked his cheek, guiding him into opening his mouth and brushing their lips together, it took John a moment to realize that if Tommy could taste him on Josh’s lips that there was a chance he was tasting him in return, that when Josh’s tongue licked into his mouth it wasn’t just his own flavor being teased against his tongue. He shuddered and in the moment he couldn’t honestly say how he felt about that.

Or how he felt when he was pulled back and Tommy was pulled in to kiss Josh again. His breathing was heavier now, he knew he was flushed and he absolutely shouldn’t be. He should definitely be pulling back more, not staying so close to their faces as they kissed that he could feel the breaths let out by them brushing over his own lips.

Josh kept switching between them and John felt like he was getting dizzy from the back and forth, the sudden lips and tongue, teeth scraping against his mouth then left alone to watch Josh kissing Tommy with the same hunger. God, it should be making him mad. He tried to get mad so he could stop being so turned on by how they looked together, but it was not happening, it just wasn’t. He knew it was obvious, too, he could feel himself twitching, knew how flushed his cheeks had to be by now.

They pulled away from each other again and John leaned in closer to get his turn, making an annoyed sound when his chin was caught up by Tommy’s hand. It was his turn damn it; God, he just wanted to kiss Josh so badly. He wasn’t left with a lot of options with his leg and Josh’s injuries, but they could kiss, and he could hear Josh’s heavy breathing, felt his hand rubbing down his arm.

A thick finger rubbed a slow line across his bottom lip, rough skin snagging over it, making it tingle, making John shiver, gathering up the wetness there which was then rubbed between Tommy’s fingers as he looked into John’s eyes. John just tried to breathe. His voice was raspy when he spoke, and his eyes made him want to squirm away, or possibly whimper and bend over. His brain just didn’t fucking know what to do with itself anymore. “I would very much like to kiss you, John.”

Jesus Christ, this was crazy. That was crazy, wasn’t it, wasn’t it? He should really not say yes to that. Boyfriend, serial killers, probably about twenty or so other reasons that were all fuzzy in his brain right now with Tommy so close, still holding his chin, with Josh squeezing his arm lightly.

“It’s alright if you want to, sweetheart; I don’t mind.”

“Y-yeah… yeah, ok.” He wanted to take the words back the second they fumbled out of his mouth, but it was a little too late for that because Tommy was pressing in close, cupping his chin lightly and kissing him, and he felt like it was probably a good thing he was already on the bed because his legs wouldn’t have been able to keep up with everything his brain was throwing at him right now. Those lips were so hot against his own, chapped lightly, and they felt so fucking good.

Tommy’s hand squeezed his jaw, guiding his mouth open, then he was being tasted, explored by a curious tongue, and he let Tommy do it until he felt he had been still long enough then went at the man’s ridiculous lips, biting at them, licking at them, sucking on the plush lower lip until he felt a bit of coppery tang in his mouth and knew he’d drawn blood. He felt Tommy groan out and pull back with a final press of their lips.

They were all three of them panting now, and John was reminded of how hard his own cock was when he glanced down and saw Josh’s swelling against his leg, a glance in Tommy’s direction showed a thick outline in his pants.

Tommy stood suddenly, shoulders set more firmly than how loose they had looked a moment ago. “I will prepare dinner.” His tone was terse. He gave Josh a stroke on his cheek, then one went to John’s, as well, before he left the room. John had to shake his head a little to clear it.

 Had he really just been having a three-way make out session? Why on earth had he said yes to that? He licked over his own lips slightly and Josh chuckled. “My poor brother.”

“Yeah, because I’m going to feel sympathy for THAT guy.” He paused. “Wait, why?”

“Because we aroused him greatly.” Josh’s nimble fingers glided over the shell of his ear, making him shiver. “He wanted to take us both just then, but we are too injured.”

John’s body jerked in shock, his insides clenched up tight. He couldn’t even fully blame it on nervousness or fear at the idea. Just the words made him feel hotter; why did he feel like that? He’d only ever felt like that with Josh, before. “Josh, I don’t, I don’t want to do that,” he quickly shot out, trying not to panic at the idea of it happening.

“Shh, then don’t, John. No one would ever make you.” Josh pulled him down against him and John carefully wrapped an arm over him. “It’s not like that at all, not at all.”

“He won’t… make me? You know, ‘for my own good’ or something?”

“Never,” Josh promised, and John wanted to believe that so badly he let himself. “But if you wish to, he would be wonderful with you, John.”

He ignored the thudding in his chest and the twist in his stomach. “I don’t.”

“It is your decision…” Josh hesitated and stroked a hand over his arm. “John… It is perhaps never a good time to ask such a thing, but would you be upset if I lay with my brother again? I do miss his body; please do not take offense, our time together is more than I could have ever hoped for—”

“God, don’t. Don’t try to like compare them or anything,” he quickly interrupted. He’d somehow known what Josh was going to ask before the question was even out. He wanted to say fuck no and tell Josh never to ask again, but he couldn’t, he was being looked at so hopefully. How often did Josh actually ask for things? This was an extreme thing, yeah, but still, they already kissed, maybe he could handle the idea of them doing more. Maybe. “Let me… let me just think about it, ok?”

“You could watch us, stop it if it became too much?” Josh suggested, and John felt a jolt of arousal straight to his traitorous cock. Don’t think about it, he willed himself, don’t think about how incredible Josh would look spread open and clinging to his brother, how he’d make the same sounds he made when John was inside of him, but probably higher toned, more needy, like how John felt when Josh was inside of him and, Jesus, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Just… just… let me think about it, ok?” He ran a hand down Josh’s chest, trying to avoid cuts and stitches.

“That is all I ask.”

He settled beside Josh more, smiling a little as his stroking slowly put him back to sleep. Good, he looked like he needed to sleep for a week still. So there he was, alone in the bedroom with sleeping Josh.

Oh right, he should probably try escaping.

Escaping required pants. Pants were hard. He’d have to escape in a towel.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d be able to sneak out the front door, or even down the hall with his cast. There was a lot more in this bedroom to work with than the last one, though, and more importantly there was a window. He couldn’t be exactly certain, but he certainly didn’t remember going up any stairs when he’d been drugged, so chances were good that he was on the ground level of the house.

He looked down at Josh’s sleeping form uncertainly. There was no way to get him out of here, yet. He hated the thought of leaving him, but he’d figure something out. He just needed time to think, and he’d come up with something, damn it.

He shifted carefully off of the bed, wincing at the soft thud his cast made on the carpet; holy hell that hurt. There was a wooden chair by the bed, and he grabbed onto it tightly, carefully shifting it across the floor as quietly as he could, using it as a makeshift crutch to make it to the window.

It was nailed shut. That seemed like a fire hazard, really.

He bit back a curse and examined it closer. It was nailed shut from the inside, at least. He tried to pry one out with his fingers and got a splinter for his trouble. He needed something to work them out. He hobbled to the dresser, shifting odds and ends around, trying to work quickly without making a sound. Scissors, Josh’s scissors; he recognized them as the same type of barber scissors Josh had bought and left in his bathroom cabinet for when he stayed over and wanted to be able to trim his beard. He could work with these.

When he got back to the window, he used the scissors like pliers, carefully pulling out each nail, letting them plop softly onto the floor.

Don’t creak, don’t creak. He chanted the mantra in his head as he slowly, so slowly pushed, even though his mind was shouting at him to hurry the fuck up. His flight-or-fight responses were kicking in, his adrenaline spiking as the window slid open with only the softest of catching noises.

Run. Run. He nearly gagged at the panicked thought and had to bite on his tongue to stifle back the memories of the last time he had fled. Don’t have an attack, breath slowly, don’t scream, don’t throw up, just get out. His breath came out of his nose in quick snorts. The pounding of blood was too loud in his ears again.

He tossed the scissors through the window and crawled out slowly, fingers scrapping against the house’s brick wall. It was torturous to work his cast out after the rest of his body. Starbursts flashed in front of his eyes when it caught and dragged against the sill.

Then he fell.

It was a short distance, only a couple of feet from the windowsill to the ground, but for his brain it was an eternity, only ending when his fingers were suddenly digging into cold, crisp grass; his other hand was fisted, shoved into his mouth to hold back a scream, the sound coming out as a low pitched shriek from the back of his throat.

He wasn’t falling. He wasn’t falling. He was on the ground. It wasn’t that dark. He wasn’t back in the building. He rolled onto his back. He’d crawl the fuck out of there in a minute, just a minute, but he had to see the stars in the sky, had to prove to himself that he was outside, not back in that dark building.

His head was cradled in the cool grass and it felt so good against his overheated skin. The stars were there, right there, beautiful and bright, if not a little hazy in his mind from the panic.

A shadow passed over his head.

He froze. Tommy; no, not Tommy. He squinted at the blurry figure looking down at him questioningly.

“You must be John.” The tone was somehow a tone of dry curiosity, vaguely familiar.

He gaped when he realized. No way, no fucking way. “You, you’re—”

“Are you going to come back inside?”

He flew up into a sitting position, hands scrabbling for the scissors that were tangled up in the grass now. He gripped them tightly and brandished them wildly. “Stay back!”

The man’s eyebrow’s lifted just slightly. “Why don’t we just—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead his fist slammed into John’s cheek, laying him back out flat on the grass.

His head spun, and he could just barely feel his arms being held onto, the shift of grass under his body. He was being dragged, that was about all he got before he blacked out a bit.

Coldcocked by Bruce Wayne. Un-fucking-believable.


	15. Chapter 15

Barsad woke to a low cry of pain from John. Even muffled and far away, it pulled him from his sleep like the clearest of bells. It hurt to sit, but he forced himself up anyway, scarcely feeling the slight tug at his stitches. John was gone. The window was open; he didn’t need to be a detective to work out the details there. He worried immediately for John’s leg and his safety. Then he heard Bruce’s voice drift in from the window, the sick sound of flesh meeting bone. He winced in sympathy. His brother had a brutal punch.

“Have you finished beating my boyfriend?” he called out towards the window conversationally.

“He threatened me,” was the only response Barsad received as his barber scissors were tossed back in through the window; oh John…

He could hear nothing then, and had to assume that John was being brought back in through the front door. He considered trying to walk out and greet them, to check on John, but he dreaded the scolding he would get from both brothers if he tried to walk so soon. He could hear the front door opening and their voices now, a short discussion, a low groan.

The bedroom door opened and Bruce walked in, dabbing his knuckles lightly with a dish towel. Barsad gave him a sour look.

“He did try to stab me.”

“Doubtful.”

“One can’t be too careful.”

He sighed when Bruce walked to the bed and ran a hand down his cheek, feeling his ire lessen. All things considered, for an escape attempt it could have been much worse. John probably wouldn’t see it that way, though. “It is good to see you.”

Even now that they lived in a more permanent residence, his brother was hesitant at times to visit. Barsad more often went to see him, alone or with Tommy. His brother had become somewhat of a recluse. He pulled on his shoulder to guide him down for a familiar kiss, feeling it returned after a pause; there was always a pause, now, when there had never been one before.

He tugged playfully at the beard his brother had apparently grown their time apart. “You do not pull it off as well as I do.”

He got a smug smile, and it was plainly visible that his brother disagreed. “I think I look nice.”

“What did our brother say?”

“Mostly he told me to get an icepack for your boyfriend’s face. I like your boyfriend.”

“I am so glad,” he replied dryly.

Bruce’s face became more serious. “He’s being held here, against his will. Why?”

Barsad sighed, and he could not quite meet his brother’s eyes as he told their story. Bruce’s hand brushed through his hair, and it paused at some points, Barsad could feel the muscles of his fingers twitch against his scalp at others.

“He took him back here, he didn’t kill him?”

“He said he could not.”

“Good.” The fingers relaxed again and Barsad leaned against his brother’s strong body. He didn’t know why he had been worried. Bruce was the one of all of them who had the strictest kills. He wouldn’t have approved of John’s death. “Compassion is what separates us from them,” he remarked quietly.

“He’s not exactly… thrilled.”

“The escape attempt tipped me off. I hope it gets better, for your sake.” Barsad shook his head at the hair ruffle he received. His siblings were always treating him like he was so much younger than they, even Talia who he was in fact older than. “Come on, let me help you get to the living room.”

“Your back,” he protested mildly, but let Bruce take his arm and wrap it over his shoulder, helping him stand slow and easy.

“You act like I don’t carry around plenty of bodies,” Bruce remarked cheerfully.

“I hope you treat me with more care than them, and John, if you carried him.”

“Dragged, actually; didn’t want to risk dropping him with the cast. He lost the towel about halfway to the door. I like your boyfriend.”

Barsad groaned. At least his brother was in a much more cheerful mood than usual. It was clear he had recently killed by his more easy-going attitude. The need came onto Bruce much like it did Barsad, their insides seeming to coil up tighter and tighter like a spring until the need and tension made something burst. For Barsad it was darkness, for Bruce it was pure rage that bubbled out of his blood, and after the rage was spilled out, he was much calmer until the build began again. He was happy his brother was at ease, even if it meant some teasing on his part.

_______________

John groaned and held the icepack up to his cheek; oh god, was it swollen already. Tommy had carefully propped his leg up onto the coffee table with a pillow, and he leaned back onto the couch feeling miserable. He’d expected to get threatened or knocked around more, possibly chained up when Bruce had dragged him back into the house naked. Instead, he had just gotten scolded by Tommy who had helped him into a clean pair of sweatpants, way too big on him but comfortable, and Bruce had presented him with an icepack for his face. He had glared through his rapidly swelling shut eyelid before taking it. Maybe he would have preferred more of a reprimand so he didn’t have to feel like a petulant two-year-old getting a timeout on the couch.

He thought of Josh’s ‘cleansing’ and changed his mind quickly. He watched Tommy through his good eye as he set some plates onto the coffee table. Something smelled good, familiar, and he wondered if it was the colcannon Josh made for him sometimes; it was the only vegetable dish Josh could get him to wolf down, even though it had healthy GREEN things in it. It was basically delicious mashed potatoes in disguise, no matter how healthy it looked. He wondered if Josh had learned how to make the dish from his brother. Sure enough, a whole pot of it was set on the table along with a plate of sausages, and he eyed them. He’d felt sick a few minutes ago, but the smell was triggering all sorts of memories and his stomach growled.

He heard movement and saw Bruce Wayne—seriously, Bruce Wayne, he wasn’t getting over that anytime soon—supporting Josh as he walked slowly towards the couch, helping him sit down gingerly. Josh reached a hand over and squeezed his thigh gently. “Are you alright?”

“Bruce Wayne punched me in the face.”

“So I heard.”

“There is no way Bruce Wayne is a serial killer.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Bruce looked at him in amusement and took a seat by the couch. “It almost makes sense, if you think about it.”

You know what? It kind of did, which was a little horrifying. Who would suspect a man who had everything to go around murdering people?

“Not everything,” Bruce remarked, his tone darker; John hadn’t been aware he was speaking out loud.

John remembered seeing Bruce Wayne in person once. It had been one of those memories he held onto as a kid. He’d showed up St. Swithin’s, to speak or give money or something, him and the other kids didn’t know or care because there was Bruce Wayne, billionaire orphan, looking at them, smiling at them like they weren’t just trash. John remembered smiling back; it had been his fake smile, one he had used on all of the adults then, even though he had honestly thought it was pretty cool to see him. It felt weird when he realized that it was the same smile Bruce was giving them, that same fake smile that he used even though he was angry at everything and everyone because if you didn’t smile, you scared people, and they could see how not-ok you really were.

Jesus Christ, it made a lot more sense now.

“You really are, aren’t you,” he breathed out in shock and stared a bit. House full of serial killers, and one was Bruce Wayne; stories didn’t get bigger than this, they just didn’t. Bruce just looked him over thoughtfully when Tommy came back in holding a bottle of wine and some glasses.

He let them fix him a plate with only mild protest, and balanced it out on his lap. He eyed Josh carefully, but he seemed to be ok sitting up and set his own plate down with a murmur of gratitude, eating slowly and carefully, so John resisted the urge to offer to feed him.

Then the conversation started, and it flew right over his head. Political views, philosophy, colorito versus disegno, and an architectural debate on Vitruvius. He realized now that Tommy’s book earlier was definitely not just for show, and he suddenly felt like maybe there should be a little kids’ table he could be sitting at rather than the couch. Tommy and Bruce debated and stated their own viewpoints with eloquence, never actually full out arguing in a way that would make someone uncomfortable, though it was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds just to agree with the other people. It was like, a real adult conversation that John had heard occurred from time to time, and he felt completely left out of it. At least Josh wasn’t speaking much; he kind of selfishly hoped it was because he didn’t have a fucking clue what they were talking about, either, and not just because he was tired.

“Of course you favor Florentine design, Bruce, it is your nature; you favor the linear.”

Damnit.

He stared at Josh a moment. How did he know this stuff? He never talked about this stuff with him. Josh patted his leg and spoke softer to not interrupt the flow of conversation. “Do not fear. I can scarcely keep up with them, either.”

“Yeah, but you at least seem to know what the words MEAN,” he spoke back plaintively. “I am working on a Gotham orphan education level, here.”

Bruce suddenly turned his attention to him. “You’re an orphan, John?”

He just nodded, shoving a bite of food into his mouth. He didn’t exactly talk about it, and no one wanted to hear a sob story.

“What happened?” The way Bruce was looking at him suddenly, well, John realized maybe he did want to tell him after all, because Bruce obviously wanted to hear it and he wasn’t looking at him with pity or simple curiosity. Instead, it was old anger and solidarity all wrapped up in one.

He slid his fork over his plate, watching it. “It was… My mom was a car accident; my dad was shot a couple years later by some guys he owed money to.” He forced the words out, tried to make them sound like they didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t, after so long. He glanced up.

Holy shit. It was like a dark cloud had swept over Bruce’s face at that. Right, of course, his parents were gunned down, too. It was like a complete change, no mask; pure killer was looking at him.

“Did they find the men who did it?” It was asked conversationally, far too conversationally; it was unnerving.

“I… no, I don’t know, really. No one would talk to me about it, and I bounced from foster home to foster home for a while after that, so I didn’t get any news on it.” He tried not to think about it at all, really, but he couldn’t much help that.

“I should look into that,” Bruce remarked casually, turning back to his food. John’s eyes went impossibly wide when he realized exactly what the other man meant.

“D—”

There was a sudden knock on the door. Oh great, another dinner guest John hadn’t been informed about.

Except that everyone around him looked just as surprised by the knock, so apparently they hadn’t been informed, either.


	16. Chapter 16

He glanced at Josh as Tommy stood up and went to the door. Bruce stood slowly with him, but he stayed behind when Tommy briefly touched his shoulder.

“John… please do not make a scene,” Josh asked quietly and his heart sped up a little when he realized that there could be help on the other side of that door. Except Bruce was walking over and sitting on the edge of the couch, right beside him, his nice suit pressing against his sweats, and he placed a casual but firm hand on his shoulder and John didn’t know, he just didn’t know what the man would do if he yelled out for help now. Was it worth the effort? If that was a police officer on the other side of the door with a partner and a gun, fuck yes. If it was a little old lady from down the street asking to borrow a cup of sugar, no; he didn’t want to be responsible for that.

The speaking was muffled, a female voice; still could be a cop, but the chances were definitely reduced.

_______________

He had opened the door cautiously, it was rare that a neighbor knocked on their door, but not unheard of. It would be very inconvenient if John caused a commotion in front of one however, and his shoulders tensed at the thought. It would be taken care of, but it would make Bruce most unhappy.

He was unprepared for Talia to be looking calmly up at him when he opened the door. “Sister…” He hadn’t expected her for several more days at least. He was thrilled to see her so soon, but Bruce was there.

Her eyes flashed and she smiled at him, bringing the back of her hand up to brush across his cheek. “Do not, bother. I knew he would be here.”

He took her small hand in his own, kissing at the deceptively smooth and clean fingers. He knew his worry was written clearly over his brow; how could it not be?

_“Do not ask me if I am certain! I will kill him, Tommy!”_

_He held her shaking form, crushed it tightly to his own body despite her struggles. “I know you are certain now, but will you be tomorrow?” He could feel his own heart heavy, but could not deal with his own emotions at this point when he was easing through hers._

_She hissed out in anger and dug her nails into his neck, drawing blood with ease. “My father will be no less dead tomorrow!”_

_“I know, Talia, I know.” He held her head against his chest, keeping her still, feeling wetness against his shirt that she would never allow the world to see. He understood why she needed this, and it grieved him, oh it grieved him so, and it would make her grieve, too, when she came down from it. “Give it one day, sister, just one day, and if you still need this I will do the deed myself,” he swore. He would take this on for her, he would not make her live with that guilt. He could see Barsad watching from the hall, his eyes uncertain, he shook his head and the man retreated. He would not make Barsad any more a part of this than he would let Talia._

_One day had not been enough to cool her rage, even when he brought her a kill to take it out on; he was uncertain why he had ever thought it would. He had promised though, and if he broke his word she would go herself. She would still go; she didn’t let him leave on his own, not when he slowly packed his mask and bag. Barsad came quietly to his side and laid his head against his arm comfortingly._

_“Will you really do it?”_

_“I must, I will not make her live with herself were she to do it.”_

_“I do not understand this. I hate this.” He heard the soft sigh and brought his hand up to run it through Barsad’s hair._

_“You did not know him, I understand her rage. We will mourn Bruce together.”_

_Barsad had wanted to argue, Tommy knew that well. He had barely met Ra’s al Ghul, but Bruce he knew as his brother. Tommy felt remorse that he had to take him away, take away something that kept Barsad a little more stable. He felt this would cause more than one slip in them._

_“You will stay here; you will not leave this room.” He did not ask for confirmation, he knew he would be obeyed. He pulled him in for a kiss then sighed, cupping his cheeks and resting their foreheads together. “Do you wish me to give him a final word from you?”_

_He brushed a bit of wetness from his brother’s cheek when he shook his head. “There is nothing I can think of that has not already been spoken.”_

_“Very well.” He slipped his pack to his shoulder and left him, Talia pressed to his side as they left the house together in silence._

_“Are you here to kill me, then?” Bruce asked when he opened the door. He looked tired, paler, his shoulders slumped, a man in mourning for more than himself. “I’m not going to just lie down and die.”_

_“You should, you are a DOG,” Talia hissed out, but Tommy placed an arm up, kept her to his side._

_“Talia…” Bruce’s eyes were lined with guilt and hurt at the contempt she held for him. He could tell that it was breaking the man inside to see the one he called sister hate him so. “I’m sorry…”_

_“You WILL be,” she promised._

_They had thought to take the fight to Bruce’s cave, where the man made his kills, but it did not get so far. Bruce had kept a bat by the door, expecting their arrival, and he swung it at Tommy the moment he had a chance. It connected with his shoulder, and pain exploded in it even as he shoved Bruce over a table where the man rolled onto the hard marble, his bat flying from his hands and skipping nosily across the floor._

_Tommy took the moment of distraction to drop his pack and take out Bane’s mask. Talia’s quick hand took his wrist and he looked at her in confusion._

_“No. Not Bane. I want him to suffer at your hands, not his.” Her words were soft, her own rage barely in check. He knew that she would not be able to keep herself from attacking Bruce now if he did not carry out her wish. “Let it hurt more that it was a member of his family that killed him. Let him feel what our creator felt.”_

_He felt his heart twist at the idea. To make Bane do it was a solace to his own soul.  Beyond that, he had separated his two halves for so long it was dangerous to join them together again. How could he deny her retribution, though? He let the mask drop down to the floor, his own fingers, now slightly shaking, were given a firm squeeze before she let go, retreated to watch them from the shadows._

_With Bruce’s bat and the unnatural strength of will he himself knew he gained when he became Bane both gone, they were quite evenly matched. Blows were exchanged, and perhaps the end would have come sooner for one of them if their hearts were actually in it, but that could not matter in the moment. Eventually, the blood lust was woken in both of them and when faces blurred punches and kicks came harder, more brutal, and killing blows were introduced. He spared a glance at Talia who knelt on the staircase, her fingers dug into her thighs as she watched. She was not enjoying this; he knew she would not, truly, when it happened, but that did not mean he could stop._

_Bane was creeping into his vision. His face felt blocked off from the world, wrapped in leather and metal where it was safe, where retribution was to be found, and he would no longer need to question his actions. It was a dangerous comfort. He separated his two sides so clearly for a reason, because Bane took over Tommy too often to be safe, because Tommy couldn’t come back sometimes when Bane was determined._

_Because Tommy was scared that Bane might one day hurt his family._

_He could not struggle against both Bane and Bruce’s blows, however. A fist connected with his face, and he felt the gush of blood there, felt the bone and cartilage breaking under Bruce’s knuckles. He cupped a hand protectively over his face and swung again, his fist colliding with the corner of a wall, sinking into the plaster there. He swung around and grabbed up his brother’s shirt, returned the blow, his fist smashing hard into Bruce’s head again and again until he was coughing, choking up blood, it flew into Bane’s eyes, woke him up, made him eager for the kill. He cast another glance at the stairs and looked down at Talia’s fearful eyes. She knew well she had wished for it. He would please her._

_He tossed the man onto the ground, no longer brother, no longer under Tommy’s protection; he fell with a pained groan. He grabbed him up again, raised him over his head with his arms, held him high as a macabre prize. He brought his knee up._

_“Stop!” Talia’s voice rang out, sharp and clear, a knife through the haze._

_It was not enough to stop the swift decent, but it was enough for it to be slowed, Bane could still feel the crack of bone beneath his knee and he let the man drop to the ground as he screamed in agony. He shifted his stance with an angry snarl towards Talia as she raced to him. She was fearless as always, her slender hand touching his shoulder, sliding into the blood there._

_“Don’t. Come back, Tommy. I cannot. I cannot lose any more family, and I will lose you both this way.” Her words were soft but commanding. They pulled at Tommy, and they struggled against one another until he could quiet Bane, could coax him under with the promise of a truly righteous kill soon. Her hand left him as his eyes cleared and she knelt down over Bruce’s prone form._

_“I will not forgive you. I will not, but I cannot see you dead. I will miss you.” He gasped in pain when she pressed a hand lightly to his shoulder. “Farewell, brother.”_

_She stood again and pressed a kiss to Tommy’s lips, he could taste Bruce’s blood between them. “Care for him please, I am sorry to have pushed you so far. I know you would have done it, for me, to spare me. Thank you. I must go now, I must be alone, but I will visit you, and Barsad.”_

_He nodded tersely. His mind was still unfocused from pain and Bane sliding loose around inside of it, but he understood. Bruce would live and he was thankful for that, but their family was broken apart. He knelt down and carefully gathered his brother who screamed and tried to move, eyes blinded by pain._

_“I am sorry, brother.”_

She stroked her fingers across his brow and murmured. “So worried… I wish only to speak with him.” She hesitated, a rarity for her. “Time heals many wounds. I wish this one to be the same.”

He cupped her cheek, feeling hope blossom in his chest. He had thought such a day might never come. He could see the slight smile on her soft lips and caught them up with his own, kissing her tenderly, thankfully, letting his fingers tangle in her long, loose curls. “Sister, truly I am pleased.”

“I know.” She traced a finger down his lips and he was content to wrap an arm around her slender waist and hold her close, treasuring the moment of peace between them, a rift slowly rebuilding between their family. It would be good to have it complete once more, something more whole. 

He could hear voices drawing closer and suddenly Bruce and Josh went very still on either side of him.

“Talia…” Bruce’s voice was soft, wistful. He stood quickly and looked as though he was about to run out the back way, if there was a back way, John didn’t really know the house well.

Josh’s hand reached out and took Bruce’s, and the man winced at the sudden movement but held his hand. “Please, just wait a moment, he would not lead her to you if she did not know you were here, perhaps it is good.”

“Or perhaps she’ll have him break my back again.”

“Your back?” John looked between them, absorbing that information. He remembered hearing in the news about how Bruce Wayne had broken his back in a car accident. He hadn’t been able to walk for over a year, but he’d made an amazing recovery even if he still wore a brace under his clothes.

“Please wait? I do not wish for you to go so soon.”

Bruce gave him a long look then straightened, tense as he stared at the doorway.

“What’s going on?”

“Our sister has come to visit; they have had a falling out.”

“Oh well, I hear that happens sometimes with sibl—”

“I killed her father.”

“Oh. Fuck. I mean, oh.” Well that was, that was sure something. John had honestly never been more happy to be an orphan after meeting this family.

Tommy came back, his arm around a woman who John had to assume was Talia. She, wow, she was kind of gorgeous, with long, soft brown curls and sharp eyes, curves that helped remind John that he definitely was bisexual even if he hadn’t ever really gotten along well with any of the girls he’d quite briefly dated. Her eyes flicked over him and he had to shudder a little at the coldness there until they warmed just slightly when she focused on him.

“John,” she said softly in realization. Her head tilted and suddenly he felt like he was being dissected completely by those eyes, every bit of him being pulled out and looked at under a harsh burning light, examined, measured. It was petrifying.

“Talia…” Bruce was watching her and John could hear the longing in his tone. Those eyes were pulled from him when Bruce spoke her name, and John exhaled in relief to no longer be under that scrutiny.

“Do not speak, not yet,” she ordered and walked over to him, studying his face. Her hand shot out and she scraped a nail down his cheek, leaving a sharp line of red. Bruce closed his eyes and John could see the slight quiver that ran through his body. She parted her lips, a small sigh leaving her mouth and opened her arms up to him slowly. Relief, pure relief washed over Bruce’s face and he swept her up into his arms with a speed that plainly said he was scared she might change her mind if he waited.

“I have missed you.” Her fingers curled into his hair. “I cannot forgive and forget, but I can put it into the past, as a dark spot in our history, and we will rebuild fresh memories that make it grow dim in comparison.”

John could see the nodding against Talia’s shoulder where Bruce’s face was hidden. Josh looked like he was about to cry, honestly, and he had the feeling that what was going on was an extremely emotional family moment, but he was kind of lost. Tommy wrapped his long arms around both Bruce and Talia, pulling them close to him and John could head the stifled amused laughter.

“Tommy, you will crush us,” Talia scolded mildly, but her features were softened when she turned towards him.

Then they were kissing, Talia’s soft body being pulled against Tommy’s, and John couldn’t help staring at how passionate the kiss was, how Talia’s fingers dug possessively into Tommy’s shoulders, and the soft moan that left her lips. This was such a fucking weird family. It was like they all got it on together.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait… did they?

Maybe, because once she pulled away from Tommy, she leaned back towards Bruce, placing a gentle kiss to his lips; it was tender, and Bruce closed his eyes, his hand hovering in uncertainty before Talia took it and placed it to her hip. He looked over at Josh, hoping for a little clarity, or sanity, or something from him about the situation because he was just giving up right now. Josh only smiled at the scene, his eyes lit up.

“You are explaining this to me, later, because Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Even if you weren’t all crazy-ass murderers, this would be the weirdest fucking family I’ve ever seen.”

Josh didn’t answer; his eyes were on Talia as she walked over to him. “Oh, Barsad.” She crawled onto the couch beside him, between the two of them and John wished he had room to scoot away as she stroked Barsad’s cheek, cooing softly against his ear. “Bane purged you so harshly.”

“I needed it, sister.”

“Dark little lamb.” She kissed a trail from his forehead to cheek to lips, licking at the seam of his mouth until he opened for her and she licked into it, flicked over his lips wetly. “But always so sweet.”

Josh sighed breathily, his eyes closing as he nodded. “I try, sister.”

“You do, the hardest.” Her words sounded like a light reassurance. “You know I do not hold your slips against you. I only visit after them so you know you are still wanted.”

John watched as Josh seemed to melt back into the couch at her words. His muscles relaxed completely, his head tilted back and his lips still parted. He licked over them and nodded. He was relieved. John didn’t understand, but he knew that Josh was so relieved over this forgiveness he was getting. “This was more complicated, sister.” His eyes glanced over to John.

Talia’s eyes were back on him and he felt trapped again under her gaze. “Why is he here? Surely you did not simply decide to bring him home to meet the family.”

“He knows; he discovered me.”

“Sloppy,” she rebuked him lightly.

Josh shook his head. “He is incredibly intelligent, he found my site, on his own, not knowing it was me.”

Talia tilted her head in curiosity. “Interesting. Such a thing has not happened before.”

“He hurt himself trying to get out; I had to take him to the hospital.”

She turned her head sharply to face Josh. “Were you discovered?”

“I—no, no, I left quickly.”

“Good.” She soothed a hand over his cheek. “You should rest.”

“I am fine,” Josh protested mildly, but Tommy was already walking over and lifting him into his arms despite his minor protests. Talia and Bruce exchanged a look and he followed Tommy as Barsad carried him out the door.

When Talia turned to face John, her eyes were cold once more. He realized that he’d been set up. “You…” Her voice was smooth, silky, but sharp as a knife. “You were in the hospital, alone, weren’t you?”

She crawled onto his lap, pressing her body tightly to his, her hands danced over his throat and he couldn’t move, he was too scared to move. He’d thought Tommy was scary, but he had fucking nothing on this woman and her deadly eyes. She was a predator who would swallow him up whole and spit out his bones. He nodded sharply, trying not to swallow his tongue, his heart pounding.

“I am sure they have not asked yet, because I can feel your heart beating now, like a little rabbit’s. So you will tell me.  What did you tell the police of my brother?”

Her nails dug into his throat, only the tiniest bit of pressure, but the warning was unmistakable. “I didn’t, I didn’t tell them anything about him! I couldn’t,” he wheezed out.

“Why?” Her thumb flicked over a tendon and dug into it, making him squirm.

“Because, I couldn’t, God, I couldn’t let him go,” he whispered, grateful his words were truthful.

“Oh, John…” Her hands turned from deadly to gentle with only the slightest of changes in pressure, nails that had dug now glided through the stubble on his cheek and his body struggled to cope with the sudden change of sharp angles against his body going soft. “Aren’t you precious? I had to test you, be sure you weren’t lying. My brothers are too soft to do such things and sometimes I must protect them.”

He breathed finally when it seemed like she might actually not kill him, his muscles turning to jelly. She only smiled, seeming entertained. “I have wanted to meet you since Barsad mentioned you. I knew you were special, if Barsad was enamored with you. My brother allows himself so little that, to let himself have you, he must have desired you like a shipwrecked man gasps for water.”

He shook his head to clear it. His body just wasn’t capable of handling all of the sudden emotional shifts that were going through it recently, especially not at the moment when all it was recognizing was that there was a soft, warm, nice-smelling woman straddling his lap, right now, and stroking over his cheek. It was unnerving how quickly he responded to it and he willed her not to notice any firmness that might be pressing to her thigh.

Mercifully, she lifted off of him, straightening her clothing and patting his arm. “I must go congratulate my brother. Welcome to the family.” She left without another word, leaving John behind staring.

_______________

Barsad pushed lightly at Tommy and Bruce’s hands as he was laid out on the bed, unable to help a small measure of rebellion at the mother-henning. He was no fool. He knew Talia would be questioning John now, and he worried. He would much rather coax the information out of John gently, when he was ready to give it, and he feared his answers might anger his sister.

“She is far too overprotective.” He stilled and sighed when Tommy rubbed his back, undeterred of course by his pushing.

"When one loses one they care about, they hold onto the others more tightly." Bruce’s arm tightened a little on his arm as he spoke and Barsad sighed. He tried to understand it through their eyes, and he relented.

“I am glad you have begun to reconcile.”

Bruce nodded slightly, not seeming ready to speak of it yet. It was understandable; Bruce liked to show his true emotions the least even among his family, and they usually only came out when he was truly overwhelmed by them through passion or sorrow. They would most likely be heard if he spent the night with Talia and Tommy, the three of them reuniting with one another’s bodies after so long. Barsad would be sorry to miss it. His flesh warmed at the mere idea.

“Can you see if she is at least leaving him in one piece?” he requested, and Bruce patted his shoulder in acknowledgement, walking out to check. No sooner had he left than Talia slipped into the bedroom. He sighed and reached for her.

“I would have questioned him.”

“And now I have saved you the trouble. He is lovely, Barsad. I approve.” She shrugged out of her coat, setting it onto the bed and sitting beside him. Her hands sifted into his hair, gentle and wonderful as he knew they could be; no one could quite soothe him like she did. She eased his head up and slid it into her lap, and he nuzzled into the soft cloth of her pants, taking in her familiar scent, like wildflowers and smoke. He missed her when she was not there.

Tommy left and they were alone, her fingernails trailing over his scalp in a slow, repetitive motion, so soothing. She hummed softly before she broke into a soft familiar tune.

“Brother had a dark little lamb, a dark little lamb," Talia sang out softly, playfully. "And everywhere our brother went, that lamb was sure to go.” Barsad gave a small rueful smile, knowing it to be true and that Talia would never cease to tease him about it. Still, her voice was lovely and he felt sleepy from it.

“I would follow you, too, sister,” he remarked tiredly, reaching up to catch her hand, stroking his thumb over her wrist in promise.

“I know, lambkin, but I like that you follow our brother the most. It is precious.”

He just smiled and let himself be lulled to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

“She didn’t torture you too badly, did she?” Bruce asked as he walked back into the room, sitting onto the couch beside him.

“That is decidedly less funny when it’s an actual possibility.” He glared when Bruce just rolled his shoulders. “What the hell is up with her?”

Bruce’s expression softened. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Something,” he agreed flatly. “Is she torturing Josh in there, now?”

Tommy came into the room and began to clean up the remnants of the meal. “She is comforting him. It has been almost a year since he has seen her, and they are close.”

“…How close?”

“Close. Does that bother you?” Tommy asked, his tone curious.

He shrugged a little and glanced at the doorway leading back to Josh. He hadn’t even known Josh had a sister, or even more than one brother, and maybe that hurt a little when he had always thought that Josh was more like him, mostly alone. He had thought they had that in common, and it had always made him feel less lonely to know they were in it together.

Bruce looked at him for a long moment then drew a ridiculously expensive looking pen out of his suit pocket and leaned over him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m signing your cast. You don’t have a single signature on it. You can’t go to your next doctor’s appointment like that, it’s sad, and not normal. Believe me, I know all about having to keep up appearances.”

“Oh.” Doctor’s appointment, he hadn’t even thought about that, something so normal, something he needed to be allowed to interact with a normal, not murderous person for, because no one here was a doctor. He watched with curiosity as Bruce etched out his name across his knee, carefully filling in any catches and skips on the plaster until it looked like it had been printed out on the cast itself. He looked over his work for a moment before seeming satisfied and putting his pen away with a click.

“When is your next appointment, John?” Tommy sat down beside him when Bruce pulled back, and John was surprised to see him holding a marker. He placed a hand on his thigh, thumb brushing lightly against the skin just above the cast where his sweats had worked up while he signed across John’s thigh in a thick fancy scrawl, completely illegible.

“It’s…” He swallowed a little when his thumb pressed lightly into his skin, rubbing a smooth circle there. “I don’t know. I had it written down; I think it’s in a week or two.”

Tommy nodded and gave his leg a light pat before he moved his hand from it, choosing instead to wrap an arm across his shoulders, making John jump a bit. “We will call in. Someone will take you to it. You should make a list of things you would like from your apartment.”

“Item number one: I would like to live in it,” he shot back quietly, very much noticing how warm Tommy’s body was against him and unable to help thinking how good his lips had felt earlier. He could see a faint scab just forming over his bottom lip where he’d bitten at him. He couldn’t believe that had happened. It felt so long ago when it had only been what, maybe two hours?

“Perhaps you can think of some items you’d like from it, instead,” Tommy replied easily and reached to pick up the remote, turning on the TV.

Cartoons.

“I am not fucking twelve.”

“Do you wish me to put the news on, instead?”

The last thing in the world he wanted right now was to hear more bad news. “Fine. Just turn on SpongeBob, don’t talk to me, and stop touching my damn ear.” He shivered a little when Tommy’s thumb brushed along the shell of his ear, clearly not an accident and not the first time it had happened.

“They stick out a bit; it is hard to avoid them.”

“They do not.” He absolutely did not sulk at that. His ears just didn’t stick out that far. It wasn’t like a lot or anything. He drew in a sharp breath and felt warmth flushing over his chest when Tommy’s finger traced the curved inner ridge of his ear slowly.

“They do a little, now that he mentions it,” Bruce remarked. Tommy’s thumb flicked across his lobe before he finally settled his hand on his shoulder and began to talk with Bruce, picking up their conversation from earlier.

Well, at least he could tune them out and watch cartoons. He’d never admit it to them, but he did like to watch them from time to time with Josh when it was a lazy day and he didn’t quite feel like studying. Jesus, studying; what was the point in having put in all of that effort, now? Who cares if Gordon said he had a detective badge waiting.

Gordon…

He’d called John, he had John’s number, his file, and he knew where he lived. If he went missing for more than a couple of days, well, then surely the man would suspect something? Especially with this case. Would he have him searched for? Would they be able to find anything? The last call he’d made was to Josh’s cell phone, maybe they’d find his, trace it. He hadn’t thought there was anyone out there to look for him, but Gordon might be.

If he came, though, he’d find Josh, too. He felt like he just couldn’t catch a fucking break in all of this. The bit of hope that he’d felt when he remembered Gordon flew away quickly. Now he had to actually worry about Gordon looking for him.

He was so sick of worrying about this, of his emotions catapulting back and forth in his chest.

Tommy was so warm.

He’d noticed it the night before when he’d put an arm over him. His body seemed to exude heat and it radiated out into John’s skin. The conversation near him droned down into a soft background noise as his eyelids started to droop. He felt his head being directed to Tommy’s shoulder and he leaned into it, feeling a stroke across his tilted neck in approval.

A female voice joined the conversation and he could just barely follow it.

“He is sleeping; it looks as though this one will drop off soon, as well.”

“Nearly there,” another voice agreed. John wanted to argue, but his mouth was refusing to open. “I am sure the excitement of the day and their healing bodies is taking much of their energy.”

“They must be precious together.”

“They fit together well, from what I have seen. He has only been here one night.”

There was a soft laugh. “Look at his eyes flutter, should he be taken to bed?”

He mumbled and shook his head as much as he could muster, nuzzling into Tommy’s shoulder in the process. He was warm and he liked listening to the buzz of conversation around him even though he wasn’t really following it. It meant people were there. He liked that.

“Looks like he wants to stay. Sometimes it’s nice to just be around family even when you’re sleeping through it,” spoke another voice. He felt a quick pat on his good leg. Bruce, he thought anyway.

“Very well, he is family then, isn’t he? I like the idea of having another little brother.”

That seemed to be the deciding factor, and he listened to them as they talked, not really absorbing any of the conversation spoken, sometimes feeling a hand through his hair or a pat on his leg as the time passed. It was quiet inside of his head for the first time in a while and he loved it, he just loved that quiet inside, the worries and fears gently pushed back by the soft sounds around him and that cozy warmth.

Eventually he stirred, feeling himself being lifted carefully by more than one pair of hands so it was easier not to jostle him, as he was taken back to the bedroom and laid out. It was cooler in there, but he could feel Josh and rooted out for his warmth, getting a sweet, sleepy kiss and feeling Josh curl up around him. Another kiss, plush lips, slightly rough from a scab on the bottom lip. Another, more hesitant, but warm, and finally a fourth; lips pressed into his own so softly with a smooth, possessive claim.

“Welcome to the family, John.” He couldn’t tell who spoke, maybe it didn’t matter. He held onto Josh and slept.

_______________

It was still dark, he couldn’t have slept long, but he was pulled from his sleep. He didn’t understand at first; he was comfortable, sleepy, warm, very warm.

Then he heard a low guttural moan, the creaking of bedsprings. His eyes flew open but the room was empty except for him and Josh who was still curled up with him. Thin walls, far too thin, and the noises had been going on for some time. His own body had begun to respond to them while he dozed, and he felt flushed all over already. He was getting harder faster than he would ever dare admit to anyone. He could hear them all clearly, pick out each voice, their moan, even heavy pants. God, it was all three of them, they were in the room right beside them and he felt like a captive audience. That just wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to ignore that?

“Are you awake, too, sweetheart?” Josh snuggled up closer and John felt guilty as hell, tried to will his hard on away. Josh would know, though, he knew how much John enjoyed hearing him moan or talk during it. John just liked noise going on period, and Josh would know, and he was a terrible, terrible boyfriend because he didn’t want Josh sleeping with Tommy but apparently his body was cool with getting hot over hearing Tommy sleeping with other people.

There was a sharp cry, a low groan, the sound of pleading, pleading for more. His breathing sped up; Josh had to hear it even with their noises.

Josh’s hand stroked down his chest. "Do you like how they sound?" he whispered against the shell of his ear, and John shuddered because, God, he was getting so hard and they sounded just so… he couldn't even describe it.

He couldn't help but make a small sound of agreement and Josh's lips curled into a smile against the hollow behind his ear. He kissed there, nipping against the sensitive skin and John whined softly.

"J-Josh." God, that wasn’t helping.

"I used to listen to them, John, before I joined them. I once felt I did not deserve such things, so I only listened as you are now." Josh's fingers crept up over his hip and John wiggled. "They wished me to join them and I would instead lie in my bed and the sounds of their lovemaking would drift to my ears."

He sucked in a breath, another small whine leaving his lips when Josh 's hand found him, tending the soft cotton of his sweats, making the fabric sticky when precome pearled at the tip of him. Josh peeled it back and exposed him to the open air, the rush of it made his cock twitch eagerly. “It was such sweet music, I could not resist pleasuring myself to their song.”

_______________

_“Barsad…”_

_His hand froze on his cock, his body filled with shame that he had been discovered. He thought his sister was resting as his brothers continued to make love beside her on the bed, but she had come to check on him, instead. His cheeks burned and he hastily pulled a blanket over himself._

_“T-Talia, I… I am sorry.”_

_She tilted her head at him, her body wrapped in a warm robe, a flush of pleasure still on her throat and cheeks, her hair in disarray and Barsad’s member throbbed further when he realized she would still be wet under her robes, perhaps still carrying his brothers’ essence inside of her body._

_“Why do you apologize?” She padded over to the bed, her voice low and throaty still from her recent pleasure. “Perhaps it is because you lie in your bed and masturbate when we wish you in ours?”_

_His heart hammered in his chest as she crawled onto the bed with him, oh how he desired her, she was beauty and family and he lusted for and loved her. He was fearful, though; he hardly deserved this family. They were so wonderful to him, but he offered them so little. He slipped, he was inexperienced. It was best to let it remain as it was, so he did not disappoint them further by showing them that he had never learned his way around a bedroom beyond his own hand on top of it all, that their sweetest kisses were the only passion he had ever known._

_“I simply do not wish to join,” he spoke, his voice faltering when her smooth hand dipped down his bare chest, her nails blazed a trail down his body that lit a fresh fire in his belly, and he shook with pleasure and humiliation when he felt himself leaking out freshly onto his thigh. He had been approaching his own climax when she had entered the room, and his body was on edge from the sudden halt._

_“Why not?” She sounded puzzled, like the idea that he would refuse was a true bewilderment._

_“It is… it is not my place.”_

_She smiled and laid her head down on his chest. Her hair tickled at his ribs and she was no doubt listening to the pounding of his heart, feeling the dampness of his skin against her ear. “We are your family. Your place is with us. Let me touch you, Barsad. I wish to touch you.”_

_He considered refusing her, but her hand crept down lower, touching his hip, stroking his groin, so close to him and oh, he was so weak he could not resist. “Yes, yes please, Talia…” he moaned out finally, feeling broken by the need he felt._

_“Thank you.” Her fingers fluttered just at the base of him, tugging gently at the nest of curls just above his cock. “Listen to them closely, little lamb, do you hear their bliss?”_

_He closed his eyes, nodding desperately. He could hear them clearly. And he cried out to join them when Talia’s fingers danced over his prick, light, quick touches that set his blood on fire, teasing at his foreskin, running a nail down the thick vein along the underside of him. His cock bubbled up more precome, so excited by her exquisite touch. He was leaking out onto her hand and he wanted to apologize, but she smiled, pleased, and she stroked it onto his skin, making him wetter, making her able to glide her fingers along him with ease. He could hear them, still, and thought perhaps they could hear him being touched by her, and her touch was so wonderful._

_His mouth dropped open and he panted, looking up at her as her face hovered above his now, eyes knowing and sharp, but her lips were smiling when she kissed him, wrapping her hand around his cock firmly and giving him a squeeze that made him buck up into her palm with a grunt._

_When she pulled back from their kiss she watched his eyes, her hand pumping him now. How badly he wanted to spill for her, his thighs trembled and his hips pushed up into her wonderful grip. “We wish to share that with you, Barsad. You are our sweet little brother; we do not want you alone and cold in your bed with only your hand to warm you.”_

_“I… I understand, I did not before,” he gasped out. He was a fool to have stayed away from them. He understood now, what he was missing, that he had been trying to keep this small measure of distance between them. Why, he knew not, but he knew it would need to end; he desired them and they wanted him, as well, and he would join them. “I’m sorry. Please, Talia.” His hands grabbed up fistfuls of her soft hair in desperation. He clung to her. “I need you, please!”_

_She hummed softly in approval, their lips brushing together. “I have you, Barsad. Let yourself go for me.” He nodded, thrusting up into her hand eagerly, letting go of his doubts. He would join them, and they would be together in all ways. He accepted that as he cried out in bliss and spilled into her warm hand. She dropped sweet kisses onto his cheeks and when his breathing steadied, she guided him back to their bedroom._

Now it was John, so swollen with need as he heard their family’s cries. Barsad wished to join them, it was a special night, Bruce and Talia had been apart for many years. He was too sore still, though, for what had obviously dissolved into a rough frenzy of need brought on by so long and deep an emotional gap. Even if he was not, John was not ready to wrap his mind around such an idea, and he was willing to wait until he was. He smiled as he could just make out the blush of John’s cheeks in the dim light. He was deeply embarrassed to be so hard from their sounds, but how could he not be? At least he had not been caught masturbating to them.

“Josh, we shouldn’t…” He swallowed heavily and Barsad just wanted to kiss him until he melted into the bed. He was so sweet. “I mean that’s…”

“It’s alright, sweetheart; they sound good, don’t they? I’d like to help you out with that. May I?”

“G-God, ok, yes.”

He chuckled and teased his tongue against John’s earlobe, sucking the bit of flesh between his lips and feeling John shudder beside him. John had never once turned down any sort of proposition from him, he knew he wasn’t about to start now. He wrapped around him, pulling slowly, feeling John’s soft hitch in his breath. He knew how to work his John up, slow lazy twists of his wrist, his thumb sliding over the wet tip of him until he was panting, shivering, dripping down and ready for more.

“Listen to them,” he whispered softly as he kissed John’s cheek, watching eyes that were cloudy with pleasure clear slightly and flick to him uncertainly. “It’s alright; they sound so good, don’t they? They know you can hear them.” He smiled as the flush on John’s cheeks grew at that. “I know, because they knew when I could hear them, too.”

He worked his hand faster now, feeling John squirm against the sheets as much as he could, his cast keeping him stiller than usual. Barsad stroked faster to compensate, and John let out a loud cry at the sudden change.

“God, God, yes, just like that, just like that, Josh.” He arched under him, not far, just enough that he was able to push into his hand and Barsad tsk’d softly.

“Can’t move like that, sweetheart, not good for your cast.”

“H-have to, God I have to,” John chanted out softly, gripping onto the bed.

“Shh, just relax, listen to them and let me do it.” He pushed his hand down on his hip to still him and John groaned, fingers grabbing and digging into his hand as he held him down, pumped his John’s swollen cock as his body tried to move, tried to work for the pleasure, but Barsad held it steady, brought out the pleasure on his own. A low loud cry came to them through the wall, and John was suddenly keening, managing a weak arch of his back and spurting out onto his belly. He smiled, loving the sight of it, of how John’s eyes went hazy from the pleasure of it and how, for a few moments after, he was always limp and quiet save for his heavy breathing.

John’s eyes closed and Barsad settled back down with him. “Gonna be a little sticky in the morning, sweetheart.” John just made a soft noise that indicated he either was not listening or didn’t care. Barsad was just fine with that. He was still tired anyway. His own cock was showing interest, but he truly doubted he was quite ready for reciprocation. That could wait until later. He stroked the damp hair along John’s temple until they both settled again. The noises had died down somewhat, a break from the passion for all of them, and he found his rest with John in it.


	18. Chapter 18

Talia’s bed was smaller than his own, but they made do on it. Talia curled up against his side, touching as much skin as possible with her face tucked against his chest, her thigh stretched over his legs, her hand clasped over his heart. Bruce was laid out beside him on his belly, more carefully stretched out, a cushion tucked under his abdomen to ease his back after a long night of straining it. They were both sleeping soundly, and he cherished the peacefulness among them. Reconciliation was a beautiful thing.

He skimmed his hand down Bruce’s spine, always so careful when he touched there, though he knew his brother had healed well. L1, L2; he knew the exact vertebrae he had broken in his brother’s back, he had heard them mentioned many times on every visit to the doctor’s he took him to, the physical therapy. It had been pure luck that it had been his lower back that had been broken. There was less risk to the spinal cord, and it meant that with hard work Bruce had recovered almost fully.

Still, he could not bring himself to do more than lightly stroke down the curve of his back as his fingers dipped down and cupped over his ass, squeezing lightly, pleased at the sleepy grunt he received. Bruce had always been nocturnal, terrible at waking in the mornings. He pinched at his skin and teasingly dipped his fingers down between his cheeks, feeling the wetness of lubrication still there. In all honesty, they had not slept much and had woken several times in the night to begin again; perhaps he could let him sleep in this once.

A rested sigh was exhaled over his chest and he rubbed at Talia’s hip. “He still sleeps late, I see.” She smiled and lifted her head slightly to peer over at him. “He could never be convinced to do otherwise.”

“Some things are untrainable,” he agreed, but smiled lightly. “We did what we could,” he teased.

_“I have brought someone to meet you, Tommy.” She sounded pleased with herself, and his curiosity was piqued. He set down the rope he had been carefully coiling and left their room, well, the room they had taken when they had cleaned this house of its unrighteous inhabitants. It would be home for a week or so longer until it was time to move on._

_He looked at the young man in front of him, clean cut, expensive clothing, killer’s eyes. Perhaps Talia thought it would be fun to end him together. They did not often kill as one, but it was not unheard of._

_“You’re Bane.”_

_Interesting. He looked to Talia whose eyes twinkled with delight. He would indulge her game._

_“No.” He shook his head. “I am Tommy. Bane only comes when it is time to kill or cleanse.”_

_“I snuck him away from my father. I wanted him to meet you. You are his brother, after all.” She smiled, pleased with herself._

_Tommy looked him over again with new curiosity. “You are our creator’s latest child?”_

_The man tensed when Tommy cupped his chin, tilted his head so he could study his face better. It was obvious he was uneasy about being touched by another. “Ah, you have rage and fire inside of you, brother, don’t you?”_

_He was looked over, and Tommy could see the flames hiding just behind the surface of this man’s eyes, hidden behind a plastic smile. He was studied in return before the man simply nodded. “Bruce.”_

_“Father saw it inside of him, too. He had not killed before, but he knew he would. He simply presented the opportunity for the righteous kill and watched the rage and darkness spring out of him.” She sounded in awe of it._

_“He encouraged it?” he asked, mildly surprised._

_“He said it would have come out soon anyway, that he could see it clearly in his eyes.”_

_“What did he do?”_

_“He left me in the room with the man who murdered my parents, and a bat.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and Tommy did not know this new brother well, but he knew that this was a rarity for him, for him to become emotional in front of another._

_He could see the flecks of blood soaked into the man’s suit, the white cuffs of his shirt splashed in red, droplets dried behind his ear where hasty cleanup had overlooked them. This man, this brother, had just killed, his very first kill, not more than an hour or so ago._

_“Your father simply left him alone after?” He frowned at the idea. Talia smiled and placed her hands on Bruce’s shoulders, making him startle slightly before he settled back into his indifferent mask._

_“You know my father does not do well with such things. He cares only for the kill. It was always you who soothed me through my emotions, brother. Why do you think I have brought him to you?”_

_“I’m fine,” Bruce cut them off shortly. “I don’t need to be ‘soothed’.”_

_Tommy sighed. He recalled his own first kill; when the emotions had died down, he’d vomited and curled in on himself in pain and confusion, alone and wishing to die as he and Bane warred with one another. Talia had cried confused tears, only barely aware of herself, clutching him. Emotions were funny things. “Come with us, brother. Let our shelter be yours for the night, and we will see where it takes us.”_

_He saw Talia’s pleased smile and Bruce’s uncertain façade crumbling. An orphan being offered a family with those who knew his true nature… anyone would feel overwhelmed, and as he came down further from the blood lust, as Talia cleaned the stains of red that he had missed off of his face, his hair, and Tommy dressed him in oversized, comfortable clothing, he finally crumpled against them._

_“I can’t believe I…” His words were cut off by a kiss from Talia, and his hands grabbed her arms. He kissed her back desperately, like her touch was his reality, his sanity, a lifeline. Tommy took hold of his hands and held them firmly._

_“You have, and you will again. Your need for it will rise once more, and it will be easier each time, but you will always come to us after, and we will care for you. You will be our brother.”_

_“He should be with us, not my father; you would train him better.” Talia sighed and kissed against Bruce’s cheek. It was tender, and Bruce seemed to melt from that more than he did the passion of the first kiss._

_“It is not my place. Your father is wise in many ways, and Bruce is but a sapling. It is probably unwise to plant him only to uproot him so quickly.” He took his own turn in giving his new brother a soft kiss, one that he felt the man melt into him for, as well. He was truly affection-starved. “Come to bed with us, brother; we can sleep and share our warmth, or we can share our pleasure. The choice is yours.”_

_The choice that night was warmth, and they stripped themselves, laid out naked and twined together, bare skin a soothing comfort against the coldness inside of them all as they held him between them. The next kill, though, he chose pleasure. It had been months since their last meeting, but when they were reunited it felt as though they had never left one another’s presence._

_“I can’t sleep,” he confessed. “I can’t sleep at all, anymore.”_

_Tommy made a noise of sympathy and ran a hand through his brother’s hair, seeing his tension, his exhaustion. “You must; when one does not sleep, they become sloppy, which will lead to your capture no matter how much money you possess, brother.”_

_“Stay with us longer than the night, Bruce. My father will not check on you for several days still.” She rubbed over his arm and he leaned against her. They were spread out on blankets now on the floor of their current dwelling, a tent in the woods. They had cleaned the blood from their brother in the nearby stream—Talia had scolded him mildly for not learning to clean up better—and now his body was bare against them as Tommy held his head in his lap and Talia ran a hand down his arm._

_“He told me to stay away from Tommy.” But he was smiling as he said it, the smile of one who rarely did what they were told if they did not agree with it._

_“He is quite angry with our brother,” Talia agreed and leaned down to kiss him. Bruce’s hand caught her hair and rubbed it between his fingers as he returned it._

_“Why?” he finally asked, his voice curious, and Talia smiled and kissed his forehead._

_“My father was being too soft for me. When I slipped, he refused to cleanse me as I required. I went to Tommy and begged for Bane to give me what I needed. He did, and my father broke ties with Tommy in his anger.”_

_Tommy’s hand tightened in Bruce’s hair at the memory. He had only done what was necessary, and it had hurt for the man he considered more his blood than any biologically born man, a man who had been his salvation, to have turned his back on him. “Talia left with me, though she still sees him on occasion, as you have seen.”_

_“I must steal you from him from time to time so that you can know true family,” she spoke playfully._

_“He taught me who I really am.” Bruce ran a hand down her back, tracing along a thick scar across her shoulder, a mark Tommy recognized was from Bane. “But…”_

_“It is different. You feel different with us,” Talia spoke for him and worked her body down to lay beside him. He nodded and wrapped his arm around her. “We feel much the same with each other. We have found affection and care in a cold world. There is nothing wrong with desiring to hold onto one another.”_

_Bruce said nothing, but it was clear he was deep in thought. Tommy rubbed his neck and watched as Bruce began to explore Talia’s body with his hands, stroking along the curve of her hip. His actions were serious, measured, almost shy even though it was clear he knew his way around a woman’s body well. This was new territory for him, the joining of bodies not simply for the sake of the flesh and lust. This was an intimacy he doubted Bruce had shared with others._

_Talia returned it in kind; her fingers curled around his length and Tommy reached out with his own to join in her play, stroking his brother as he moaned and Talia tickled and teased at the tip of him with her fingertips._

_“Have you been with a male, Bruce? I would love to watch you with our brother.”_

_Bruce laughed softly and kissed over the swell of her breast. “I was an angry rich boy in a rich college. I’ve slept with plenty of boys.”_

_“Ah, but have you been with a man?” Talia asked. “Tommy will ruin you.” She moaned in pleasure when Bruce mouthed over her nipple, flicking his tongue over the tightening nub. “Ah… He will wreck you.”_

_“I’m pretty sure I can handle myself,” Bruce replied cockily, with pure bravado that Tommy was sure he did not truly hold in his heart. Inside, Bruce was a lonely brother. He didn’t mind, his brother would learn that he did not have to keep up his walls with them. They would teach him how good it could be to let them go._

_He found himself to be quite correct. They took him apart slowly, sweetly, when he was used to only quick, wild, fucks with worthless, uncaring bodies. The closeness, the tenderness of it broke his walls down until his eyes were damp, his body slick with their sweat and his own. He did not speak during it, he did not say a word save for their names, which were on his lips each time they pushed him over his edge. By the end of it, he was on his knees and Tommy rutted into him while he held himself open for the thrusts, grunting with each smooth stroke._

_Tommy reveled in the closeness of it, the tightness of his brother. He leaned over him, pressing their bodies together and kissing over his neck. Bruce had tried to bury his face into the blankets, but Talia would not allow it, so his head was turned to the side, his eyes screwed shut tightly in embarrassment as tears clumped his eyelashes._

_“You look so lovely, Bruce. I told you he would ruin you.” She sighed contently, her own body having been well seen to by them both. “You will come to only us. There is no need for you to lie with anyone but us.”_

_Bruce nodded in agreement as Talia reached under him and stroked his cock until he spilled for them again. He still did not speak, nor did he say much after when they lay in a spent tangle of limbs, but he held onto them tightly and spent the next span of days with them where they would converse and grow closer. It would be many more visits until he could bring himself to talk during their coupling, first with a slight waver to his tone, then later louder, confident in his desires, in his ability to relax with them and the knowledge that they would not use his emotions against him or try to take advantage of him._

There were nights after the incident, when he would lay in bed with Bruce and Barsad and doubt himself, wonder if he might have been able to change things if he had plucked away Bruce from their creator sooner. Such thoughts did no one any good, however, and so he tried not to dwell on them.

Talia reached to play with Bruce’s hair. “Bruce and I will go gather John’s things today.”

“And investigate him further, I presume,” he guessed easily and she smiled in response.

“We know almost nothing about him, and Barsad would be so grumpy about how I chose to pull it from his little lover.”

“He’s an orphan,” Bruce spoke up, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “His father was murdered. I want to look into that further.” His voice sounded far from sleepy as he spoke the words and sat up carefully, pulling his brace from the nearby dresser and fastening it back onto his body.

“Of course you do.” Talia tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you think that perhaps he has it inside of him, too?”

Tommy shook his head. “I see anger in him, loneliness, perhaps rage, even, in the right circumstance, but I do not see the same bloodlust.”

“It is almost a shame; it would bring them closer.”

Bruce snorted softly and dropped down onto the floor, beginning a careful exercise regimen. “Only you would hope someone would have this affliction sister.”

“I simply wish for what is best for Barsad.” She twisted her lips into a pout. “It would be better for them if this John did not have an innocent spirit holding him back.”

Tommy contemplated that, and could see her reasoning. He did wonder if someone like John would truly be able to join their family fully, but they would do whatever they could for Barsad and their newest to bring him into the fold.

The words drifted up from floor, spoken with slight hesitance, “Just because someone does not have what we do inside does not mean they can’t kill, or won’t kill, if put in the right circumstances.”


	19. Chapter 19

Barsad froze guiltily when the door opened.

"Barsad," Tommy's tone was full of disapproval.

He sighed and lowered his scissors. "I was just going to trim my beard and wash up." He should have known he was going to get caught mid-walk to the bathroom. "I am fine to walk now, honestly, brother."

"Go sit."

He dropped his head back and sighed again, but went to sit down carefully on the chair. "You will all make me go stir-crazy," he warned when his brother walked behind him. He tilted his head back and rested it against his stomach. Tommy's fingers carded through his beard slowly before he picked up the scissors and worked methodically to trim his beard. It was far from the first time he had done it, and Barsad closed his eyes, relaxing, not speaking so as to not cause an error.

"You may get up and walk around tomorrow, brother. Take another day to rest. Surely it is not too much of a burden to lie with your John for another day."

He had to smile at that. His brother was clever; truly he did love to lie out with John in bed. Tommy finished quickly and brushed away stray hairs from Barsad's cheek. "Do you know of items John might wish from his apartment? Bruce and Talia will go fetch them today."

"And use the opportunity to spy on him," he replied chidingly. "They should leave him be. I can answer questions they have."

"It gives them something to do together."

"Spying on my boyfriend should not be a family bonding activity." He groaned in exasperation but nodded when Tommy rubbed along his temples. "Fine. I know some things he would like."

A list was made, and honestly it was not long; John was not much for material things. He listed a favorite coffee mug, some clothing he knew John wore with regularity, the lamb John had won for them that they kept in a prized spot on the dresser-oh, he would hear no end of teasing at that one from Talia-and finally his folder. He hesitated before listing that, he hadn't exactly told his family that John wished to be, of all things, a detective, but he would explain it later, let them be surprised by how intelligent John was if they chose to nose about.

Tommy slipped into the shower with him.

"Purely to make sure you stay on your feet, of course," he whispered into his ear as he slid a soapy palm in a sensual trail from his throat to his thigh, making Barsad gasp and dig his fingers into his arm, knees quickly going weaker. "See? It would appear as though I am needed, after all."

His brother picked poor times to let his humor show. He kept his touches mostly honest, though, even if Barsad's body chose to interpret them in a very different manner. By the time Tommy rinsed the suds from them, his member was twitching in eagerness whenever it brushed against his brother's slick thigh, showing him that he was certainly recovered enough now to engage in play.

"It is a shame I cannot see to it. I have not tasted you in a long time, brother."

He moaned a bit in frustration over Tommy's mischievousness as he was pulled flush to his body for a kiss, unable to resist rubbing against his flesh a bit in need. He pulled back with a soft cry. "Please, please, Tommy, I can't, I have put him through enough."

Tommy lapped up droplets of water that ran down his neck. "Then take care of yourself. I wish to witness your pleasure at least, if I cannot cause it."

He made a noise of agreement and snaked his hand down between their bodies, taking hold of himself. His brother held their bodies tightly together, his hand held his hip in a bruising grip, so close to him, but so far away. It did not take him long. He thought of John, how lovely he looked when he was touched, how he might appear spread out for his brothers and sister to touch him, as well, how much he wanted to slip inside of him once again and make them both lose themselves in it. He came with a shuddering gasp, spending out in thick ropes against his brother's thighs where the water quickly washed it away. He smiled drowsily when his brother kissed his cheek and rinsed them again quickly.

_______________

Talia looked at the apartment building curiously. "A bad neighborhood," she observed. "Our brother is dating a scoundrel; surely he will bring down his moral character."  She smiled at the brief look of amusement her brother gave her.

John's apartment was so small, but the homey feeling of it was charming, if a little grungy, she noted. She considered herself far from snobbery, though she did not have much need to worry about money. She had grown in poverty, and even when they were better off they often kept to the barest of their needs met in order to keep themselves from being noticed. It was a bit messy, though; Tommy had probably barely held back the urge to pick up the place while he waited for John to arrive. She picked up a book from the coffee table and held it up curiously to Bruce.

"Criminology, what could he want with this, I wonder?"

"Interesting," he agreed, and they packed it away in the duffle they had brought. Poking around was certainly more interesting when there was more to see, as there often was in the dwellings of those she frequently chose as her own kills-rich socialites who may have never personally lifted their finger to injure another, but their callous business practices had led to the deaths of many. Mostly though, this apartment was empty of the bits and bobbles she found in others, and she liked that more. Bruce went through the list while she explored the living room. She laughed when a pink blur suddenly flew towards her and she caught up a stuffed lamb.

"He shall never hear the end of this," she promised.

Her foot bumped into something hard on the floor and sent it sliding under the couch. She knelt down with interest and retrieved it. A cell phone, clearly John's. She scrolled through, curious at finding no listed contacts beyond a few food delivery places and one name, interestingly enough, not her brother's.

"Gordon," she mused out loud, and looked through the recent calls, one to her brother's phone, one missed from this Gordon person.  Bruce came out holding a tattered looking notebook.

"I think he's in the police academy. Was Barsad going for irony with that?"

She laughed. "That one is always trouble. We should keep him at home, safe and sound."

"I can't find any folder from this list."

"Hmm, I haven't seen it either." She worked with the phone until she got to its messages, smiling at a few older ones, hearing her brother's voice though it was affected with a different accent. The affection in his voice was clear as he told his "sweetheart" about his day or asked about his, or even called simply to tell him goodnight; her brother was so sentimental.

_"John, it's the commissioner. I wanted to go over a couple of thoughts with you."_

Her lips tightened as she listened to the message. Bruce could see the sudden change in her demeanor and he leaned in closely to listen with her.

"I thought you questioned him?"

"Clearly not enough," she spoke harshly, feeling upset with herself over the mistake.

_"One's definitely doing the majority of these killings, but the cuts aren't matching up on some of these bodies. The strength needed to make them, the way the saw was held, it's different. We could be dealing with either  a copycat or hell, even a pair."_

Bruce cursed softly and she placed a hand on his arm to quiet him so she could better hear.

" _There were a few more things in your folder that I wanted to go over with you. Give me a call back when you're feeling up to going over them. Don't forget, kid, you've got the right stuff in you, and I'm going to make sure you get your detective shield for this."_

She exchanged a cold look with Bruce. His eyes had darkened, and she felt ire touching her own heart, as well, though anger was not usually what fueled her own darkness. "It would appear that we must question John much more thoroughly."

"And find out more about this folder."

She nodded in agreement, their earlier, more playful attitudes gone as they left the apartment.

_______________

John was sticky, and he didn't want to talk about it. He felt a little grumbly when Josh wasn't even apologetic about the night before, and even teased him a little about how quickly he came for him. The kisses helped, though, and thank God Tommy wasn't in the room when they talked about it.

"They couldn't really hear me, could they?"

"John, you're not exactly quiet when you're going off like that, sweetheart, not unless your mouth is otherwise occupied," Josh answered back with a bit of a cheeky grin.

He groaned, ignoring Josh's quiet chuckle and pulling a pillow over his head. At least he was feeling better enough to be a smart ass. "You're a bad person. A really bad person, Josh."

"Mhm, mostly I think you like it." He shivered a little when Josh nuzzled under the pillow with him and kissed across his neck. They were both feeling better, and it was clear by how playful Josh was being. God, how had he woken up in bed this morning and felt like this could almost be normal? It was a scary thought.

"Tommy won't let me leave the bed again today, but maybe we could find a couple of things to do to keep busy." Josh's hand rubbed over his stomach and he felt a short laugh puff out against his neck when he ended up brushing some dried flakes of semen off John's stomach. "Maybe after you shower."

"You put it there," he complained, and sat up, ignoring Josh's not-sorry-at-all apologetic look. He began to think about the logistics of getting to the shower himself, but Tommy came into the bedroom, holding a glass of water and his antibiotic. He swallowed it down and tried desperately not to think of the noises he'd heard from the man last night, or that he'd heard John's in response to them, or that there was still fucking jizz on his stomach from when he had made them, and he was sticky. "I need to shower."

"So I see."

He glared, but it felt pretty ineffectual. Tommy just ran a hand through his hair and fixed him up with another waterproof plastic sleeve for his cast then helped him to the shower. This time, at least, he didn't actually CARRY him. He wrapped a strong arm around his waist, and John gripped at the man's other arm so he could carefully hobble into the bathroom. Tommy was warm as he held him, and he thought about how he had fallen asleep last night against his body; God, what was he thinking, honestly? He sat down carefully on the stool and showered, going over everything in his mind that he'd done last night that was absolutely crazy and wrong.

Fall asleep against a serial killer? Check.

Ask to stay out there with Tommy and them instead of going back to sleep with Josh just because they were talking still? Check.

Get kissed goodnight by all four of them? Wait, check? Jesus, had that actually happened? it couldn't have. He must have just been tired.

Have his boyfriend jerk him off to the sound of three serial killers getting it on through the walls? Check, check, check. God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He totally wasn't going to make any of those crazy mistakes again. Except that Tommy totally pulled him in for a brief kiss as he toweled his hair dry. The casualness of it threw him completely off guard, and he might have possibly leaned into it a bit and felt a guilty tingle over his lips.

"You've gotta stop doing that," he muttered lowly as he was helped out of the tub. He was pretty sure he was talking to both of them. Tommy just seemed entertained and helped him onto the bed in his towel then fixed him a bowl of cereal and some orange juice to eat with Josh.

"I could bring the TV in here for you both, if you are bored?" he suggested.

"You're really going to make us spend all day in here? Come on, that's inhumane, we could die," he argued, popping a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. It was the healthy kind, the kind Josh insisted they at least keep one box of back at the apartment, when he'd one day come over to find John eating a bowlful of dry Lucky Charms mixed with chocolate chips. He made him eat it on occasion when he came over, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"I suppose I could be convinced to allow you both into the living room, if it is such a dire need for your well-being," Tommy replied with a grave intonation to his tone, jerk. Still, it got them out to the living room, and that felt a little better than being cooped up in the bedroom. They could lean against each other on the couch, and it felt like being back home when they'd watch horror movies together under the blankets; except now he didn't really think he'd ever want to watch another horror movie again in his life.

They watched a comedy, instead, and that was nice. Josh laughed softly at one point and their fingers ended up curled together. It felt so fucking normal his brain almost had a meltdown over it. His breathing got a little quicker, and suddenly the room felt a bit smaller as he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Josh looked at him in quiet worry for a moment and wrapped his arm around him as he began to feel dizzy.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he promised and rubbed his shoulder. It wasn't, it REALLY fucking wasn't, because for a moment this had started to feel fucking NORMAL within two fucking days of being there, and that was scary as shit. He'd just heard Tommy murdering someone not even 24 hours ago, and he was feeling OK about being on his couch and watching a COMEDY of all things.

"I'm losing my mind. Jesus Christ, I have to be losing my fucking mind," he muttered, and Josh reassured him that he wasn't, and that he of all people would know, wouldn't he? That shouldn't have made him laugh, but it did, so they both laughed together and he felt a little better, and he couldn't decide if that was a wonderful thing or a terrible one. Doctor's appointment; unless something else turned up, getting away from them during his doctor's appointment was his best bet. He wondered if it was Tommy who would take him, and if Josh would come. It was at least a week away, so surely he'd be well enough to come, but John would probably try to insist he stay home; it would be easier with just Tommy.

Tommy guided a cup of water into his hands, and he startled a little, jostling the cup before he took a small sip. "Take deep breaths, John." A hand stroked through his hair. "He is most likely experiencing some symptoms of an acute stress disorder, at the moment. It won't be unusual if he gets upset easily."

"I can fucking HEAR you," he shot out irritably. "Maybe I'm just upset I'm being held captive." He focused on angry, because angry meant the walls weren't closing in and he could breathe a little more easily. Angry was an old friend; he was used to its company.

Josh patted his side and it was hard to stay angry at him, not when he couldn't rage around the room and throw things, and instead had to sit there and be patted which was far too comforting for his own good. They kept quiet for a while after that, and John tried to focus mostly on the TV until Tommy asked if they'd like to help with the next meal. It was something else to do, so he accepted, which mostly meant peeling potatoes on the couch.

"You're trusting me with a knife?" he asked in disbelief.

"What would you do with it, stab yourself?" Tommy questioned with an amused look. "We try not to put knives in Barsad's hands unless he is around a righteous kill. It is a temptation."

His mind flashed back to all of the times they'd been cooking in his little kitchen. Josh had always left the cutting up to him, preferring other tasks. He looked at Josh who didn't meet his eyes, carefully shelling peas into a bowl, instead. "Christ," he breathed out softly, seeing Josh flinch ever so slightly in reaction to it.

"I wish I was not how I am, John," he remarked quietly as he worked.

"I know, I know that, Josh." Because he did, he really did, there was just no way Josh could actually WANT to do what he was doing. That made it all the worse. If Josh was really an EVIL serial killer who didn't love him, or want to be a good person, this wouldn't be hard at all, now would it? For starters, he'd be dead as a doornail. He couldn't help leaning over to kiss him, feeling Josh relax a bit as he returned it.

They talked a bit after that, about basically anything but the giant elephant in the room made of kidnapping and serial murders. Instead, they talked about some of the day trips they'd taken, like when they went to the zoo and he had maybe kind of freaked out over feeding the animals in the petting area and spent every dollar in his wallet on it, and as many of Josh's as he could puppy-eye away, until even the goats stopped taking food from him.

"So he started trying to feed the pigeons, instead," Josh grinned. Tommy chuckled in amusement as he listened, sitting beside Josh as he worked with him, easily snapping peapods and flicking the peas one by one into the bowl.

"Hey, they took it!"

"John, they're PIGEONS, of course they did."

He couldn't help but smile a little, and they began to talk about animals of all things, their favorites and why, and even Tommy joined into the conversation.

"Really? Squirrels?" He couldn't help but be curious, because he would have assumed Tommy would like something big and scary, maybe bears or something.

"I find them to be very clever." He glanced over to Josh and smiled slightly. "Though I do like little lambs, as well."

Josh groaned, and John wrinkled his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. It is an old nickname that my family has bestowed upon me."

"He called you lamb, didn't he?" He recalled it vaguely from the first night there.

Tommy nodded. "He is our little lamb."

Josh groaned again and looked embarrassed; John couldn't help but grin a little at that. "Really? And how did you get a nickname like that, Josh?"

_______________

_Barsad whimpered softly. Oh, he hurt so very badly. He did not understand much of anything beyond his own pain at this point, which seemed like it would be endless, an eternity of torture, and yet if he was here, being tortured, he did not feel his own desires, he did not feel the darkness crawling under his skin and sucking at his marrow, and so he was so grateful to the beautiful, shadowy monster above him and its dark mask. So he embraced it; every scream was like salvation, each cut into his body bled out his darkness, the burning purified him, all of it was setting him free in the cruelest of ways, and he felt almost lost when it seemed to be at an end._

_The man stood over his body, which he knew to be little more than a bruised and bleeding heap; he pulled off his mask carefully and set it aside before he crouched down in front of him. Barsad blinked blood and sweat from his eyes to attempt to focus on him._

_"How do you feel, brother?" The tone was gentle; they were the first words he had heard spoken in longer than he could even know, for he had nothing here to mark the days._

_"Free." The words scraped out of his throat, but they were honest. He felt so free without the darkness right there inside of him, controlling every aspect of his thoughts._

_"Good."_

_Water was poured into his dry mouth, and swallowing was fresh pain; it was welcomed. He murmured his gratitude, and the man seemed almost surprised. A thumb brushed lightly over his brow and he did not recoil, he would not flinch away from his savior._

_"Good. You took the cleansing well, brother. It will not free you for forever, but allow me to mend you first, and then I will teach you the path."_

_He did not understand, but he wanted to, so he made a noise of agreement then watched in confusion as the man left the room he had been keeping him in. He could not leave him now, he needed him. He needed to be by his side. It took a long time, or perhaps it only felt as though it did because he was not in this man's presence, to crawl out through the open door. He bit back agony with each careful move of his body, knowing he was leaving a slick trail of blood behind him. He got no further than the second room, a bedroom, before his body would lift no longer and he felt like weeping._

_"Oh, look at you," a soft voice exclaimed over him. He could feel light fingers touch his shoulder, pressing into a cut. "Why have you left? Are you trying to escape?"_

_He shook his head, or tried and failed. "I just. I need to be with him," he explained through his choked up voice._

_"What has happened?" Another voice, this one he knew._

_"He tried to follow you. I think he missed you." Her voice sounded amused, fond, even then. "What a sweet little brother you have found, Tommy."_

_"He does seem to have a softness to his soul when he is not consumed. You should not have moved, brother."_

_He heard but could not answer, he could only whimper in the softest of tones when he was cleaned and bandaged, carried and placed on a soft blanket. He was taught of his sister then, and she lay by his side and cooed over his wounds in sympathy, something he did not learn until later was far from her nature, but that she always found herself doing for him. He tried the words 'brother' and 'sister' in his mouth. They felt funny since he had never had need of them before, but they felt right, as well. He was taught how to be good, and about cleansing and the path. The one thing he could not be taught was to stay still._

_"Tommy, come here, he is out in the hall again." Talia's voice called out, her tone one of amused exasperation. "You must make sure he is truly sleeping; he will pull his stitches again."_

_"I am sorry, Talia," Tommy apologized, and Barsad felt himself being lifted into his arms. He had found his brother, and that was enough to relax him. He curled into his warm hold and let his eyes close._

_"This is the fourth time he's tried to find you if you are not there when he wakes."_

_"I'm sure it will get better as he heals."_

_"I'm sorry, brother." He knew it was an inconvenience, but whenever he awoke, he panicked if Tommy was not there. He needed to be near him, or, if he could not, his new sister was also a welcome relief, but Tommy had shown him the way and purged him; he would keep him clean._

_"He is like a baby lamb."_

_"Our întuneric mieluşel," Tommy agreed, and Talia laughed lightly. And when they lay out on the bed, she played with his hair and sang to him for the first time._

_______________

He looked at John and gave him a small self-conscious smile. "Because they knew that I would follow my brother wherever he might go."


	20. Chapter 20

Tommy ran a hand down his leg before he took the now full bowl into the kitchen. He could hear the back door opening there and knew his brother and sister must be home. There was the soft murmur of them speaking together in the kitchen. Bruce came out, carrying a bag over his shoulder. He walked over to the couch and kissed Barsad on the forehead.

“I have John’s stuff. Come on, you can come help me put it away.”

“Brother doesn’t want me to walk around too much.”

“You can lean on me,” Bruce assured him. “I’d have John help, but you’re a bit easier to move around with my back.”

“I don’t exactly want you dragging me around any more anyway, jerk,” John mumbled and didn’t bother looking at Bruce as he peeled another potato.

Bruce offered him a hand and he took it to stand. It was rare that he was able to spend time just the two of them, and perhaps he wished to speak about last night or Talia’s reconciliation with him. He tried not to lean on him too heavily as they went into the bedroom and Bruce guided him over to the bed. He unzipped the bag and Bruce set in on the bed, pulling out some clothing, then he smiled when he saw his pink lamb.

“I see you found it.”

He expected at least a mild tease about it, but Bruce just sat on the bed beside him. “We did. We couldn’t find the folder you listed, though.”

He made a questioning noise and pulled out a few more things. “That’s odd. He usually keeps it right on the coffee table.”

“Do you know what’s inside of it, Barsad?” His tone was careful, guarded, and immediately suspicious.

 He set a shirt down and looked at Bruce cautiously. “Yes, I know what is inside of it...” Perhaps he should have stayed out with John. He started to stand but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back a bit, wrapping his arms around him and keeping him against him. “What is going on?”

“You failed to mention that John was in training to be a cop, brother.”

“What does that matter? It is what he wants; he is good at it, at puzzles. He will make a good detective if given the chance.”

“Barsad…” His brother kissed the back of his head and he sounded… sad. It filled him with dread.

“Bruce, tell me what is going on.” He tried not to make demands, it was not his nature, but he was growing worried.

“Tell me what was in the folder.”

“It was notes, information about the killings that have been happening. John was trying to solve them. It’s how he found my kill site. He is very clever, much more clever than the police have been.”

His brother’s grip on him tightened. “And your so-called boyfriend gave it to the police, along with who knows how much else information on you, Barsad, in exchange for a badge.”

There was a scream.

John’s scream. 

His body jerked, and he tried to yank himself out of his Brother’s tight grip. “LET GO OF ME!”

He never yelled, he never shouted, not at his family, but this was John, and he was hurt, and they were wrong. They didn’t understand. It was just a misunderstanding, he was sure. Even if John had given the police the folder, it wasn’t enough without John telling them what he really knew. Even if John turned him in, it would be because he thought it was right, not for his own gain. John would never do that.

“They need to know what’s really going on, Barsad; just let them work.” Bruce kept his hold on him, tight but careful.

He could hear John’s screaming. He was screaming out his name.

He pulled harder, shoved back against Bruce and cursed, let out swears and angry words that he had never once spoken out before against anyone he loved. He was gentle, he was the lamb, but he was not going to let them hurt John for doing nothing. “Bruce, you cannot do this! You cannot! You of all of us, you of all of us cannot do this to me!” He felt his eyes growing wet as the screaming continued, and he felt Bruce flinch even as he held him.

“You would never have let them do this to Alfred.” It was low, it was the cheapest of moves, but desperation led to it. John was so fragile now, and what if they did not get what they wanted? What if they thought he was a true traitor? That was enough for a righteous kill, and he would NEVER let such a thing happen.

“Barsad…” The grip on him loosened and it was enough. He knew he would feel guilt for years to come for his action, but he grabbed the mug that had been packed away among John’s things and brought it back crashing onto Bruce’s head. His brother grunted in pain and released his hold. He could not run, but he raced as quickly as he was able out of the room towards John’s screams.

_______________

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “He does not seem the type.”

“Listen to the message for yourself, brother,” Talia argued. “He sold our brother on the idea of love, and now he has betrayed him.” She held out the phone for him to listen, and he sighed, feeling his own heart grow heavy. If this was how it sounded, it would break their brother’s heart, as would the actions they would need to take. In all honesty, it would hurt for himself a bit, as well. He had found himself growing attached to John in a very short length of time. He felt like true family already, even for all of his bristly ire and foul language.

“I do not wish to kill him, Talia,” he warned. “We have learned such things rarely work out well.”

Bruce looked towards the floor at that, but he nodded. “Maybe we don’t have to, but we do need to know exactly what is going on. I’m not letting anything happen to our brother, and we need to know everything John knows.”

Talia nodded slowly in agreement. “He will live if it is at all possible; Barsad is too fragile and sentimental even to those that do not deserve it. Tommy and I will question him, thoroughly this time.”

“Why not me?”

“Because you are too compassionate to those who do not kill, Bruce.” She kissed his cheek and took his hand. “You will distract our brother while we do what is necessary.”

“Talia is right. We will take him to the basement and do what needs to be done.”

“The basement? That’s…”

Tommy shook his head. “Not for purging, not for the kill. It won’t be needed.” He didn’t think he would have to hurt John physically, as it was clearly written across every inch of the man’s body how much he was still suffering from stress and anxiety. Pain was often in the mind.

They waited until they could hear the soft click of the bedroom door before they descended into the living room. Poor John did not know what hit him; they were used to being fast, silent, deadly with their victims when they were to whisk them off to their doom. He clasped a tight hand over John’s mouth to cover his surprise, and in moments had him down the basement stairs, Talia carrying his legs and he John’s upper body. The boy thrashed in shock, panic clearly already setting into his body, his eyes wide with fear. It was quite a shame when he had just begun to settle more.

“You lied to us, John,” her words slipped from her lips as a low dangerous hiss. “You don’t care about our brother, do you? Tell us what you told the police of him!”

He tried to kick her away with his good leg and shook his head, prying at Tommy’s hand until he lifted it enough for him to speak. “I didn’t! I didn’t tell them anything about Josh!”

Tommy shook his head, wishing this would be easier. Talia leaned over John as he was laid out on the floor. “You are lying to me, John. Do you know what I do to liars?” Her head tilted and she gave him a small smile as she whispered to him.

“I pull them to pieces.”

He went still as she dug her nails into his chest. “I start with their hearts; it is a game. I like to feel how many times it will pulse in my hand before it ceases to beat.”

The fingers that dug into his arm were trembling now, and John was rapidly losing color to his face. “I-I didn’t. I didn’t tell them!” The words came out of his mouth in an anxious rush. “T-Tommy, I didn’t!”

“The message on your phone tells us a different story, John,” Tommy informed him gravely. “We are to find out what you really told them.” He reached up as he spoke, his fingers catching on the pull-chain of the lone, bare bulb that illuminated the otherwise dark basement.

John’s eyes went even larger, his pupils dilated in the extreme. “NO, DON’T!”

He pulled on the string the let the dark wash over the room. John screamed in terror.

_______________

Oh God. Oh God, it was so dark. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see them, or anything. He wrapped his hands protectively around his head and face and screamed for Josh. Josh couldn’t let this happen! He didn’t want to die, it was so dark.

Rustle.

He was there. He was back in that warehouse. No. No, he’d never fucking left that warehouse. Why did he ever think he could escape it? He couldn’t find the stairs. The stairs were gone. Maybe there had never been any stairs at all. He was there, that was his home now, and Josh wasn’t there. Josh had never been there to save him. Josh was dead. Josh was dead and screaming, but not making any sounds like John was making now.

He screamed for him anyway.

A hand touched his chest and he jerked away from it, or tried, he was being held down tight. Josh wasn’t coming. Josh was dead, and he was so stupid to have ever gone into the warehouse because there were monsters in here, and they were going to devour every bit of him.

“John, what did you tell the COMMISSIONER about our dear brother?” the words were spat out, he felt the weight of them against his body, their soft cruelness skittered over his skin in the dark.

“N-N—” He tried to speak, but nothing came out, and it was so dark there. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it at all.

There was sudden light, just a crack of it, a tiny beam that hit his eyes as it shot down the wooden stairs and over his body. He could see someone stumbling down those steps and shoving away the shadows in the dark, hollering and grabbing him, and thank God, thank fucking God.


	21. Chapter 21

He shoved his arms against Tommy, only surprise over the sudden action was what made Tommy let go, and Barsad dropped down onto the floor with John. He looked worse than before, curled up in on himself as much as his cast would allow, his skin ghostly and clammy when Barsad wrapped his arms around it.

“It’s ok, John. It’s ok, sweetheart.” He rocked him as much as he could as he lay on the floor with him. He felt so cold, and Barsad tried to pull his arms down from over his head as he heard him muttering his name again and again. “John, JOHN, I’m right here. I’m right here, ok? Turn on the LIGHT, Tommy.”

“Brother—”

“Do it!”

Light flooded in the room and he was able to pull John’s hands down to his sides and hold him better. He whispered reassuringly in his ear.

“J-Josh? Jesus Christ.” John’s voice was so relieved and Barsad cradled his head, shushing him softly.

“I’ve got you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He heard Tommy sigh above him and he felt queasy. “Tommy, how could you? You said he was family now.” He tried not to sound accusing, but he could not understand this. It hurt.

“Family does not lie to one another, Barsad,” Talia said softly, and her hand was in his hair. He shook his head, not letting it soothe him for once.

“You can’t, you can’t just do that. I could have asked him. I would have asked him what you wanted to know.”

“How would you know he was telling the truth, little lamb?” Talia asked, and pulled lightly at his locks. He could hear the disapproval in her tone, and even in his worry he shivered at it. He had to prove he could do this. He knew they wouldn’t hesitate to take John away if they really thought he was bad, but he wasn’t; John was so, so good.

“He wouldn’t lie to me,” he protested, and kept rubbing John’s back. “He wouldn’t lie. Just let me ask him.” They were going to break his John’s mind if they tried to play their games with him; John who clung to his sides now, his breath near hyperventilating, even with the light on him now. He wasn’t like them. He didn’t have darkness inside that shielded him from these things, made them seem cold and distant. Everything was so real and a nightmare for John in his mind. “Let me ask him what you want, and he’ll tell me, please.”

“Then ask him. We will give him one chance your way, brother,” Tommy spoke, and Barsad could hear the promise of finality in that tone. If he failed, he knew he would be ushered back upstairs while they took care of things.

“John, sweetheart, you have to listen to me, ok?” He ran his fingers down his cheek, trying to gather his attention. John’s eyes were bright and wild when they fell on his. He cupped his cheek and they seemed to focus on him a little. “Come on, eyes on me, ok? It’s important, John.”

John was gritting his teeth, his breath pressed through his teeth with sharp short sucking noises. He sounded awful, like more than one victim that he’d eliminated. There was a wheeze to his throat, and Barsad just wanted to be able to take him up to bed and hold him, but he couldn’t. “That’s good, that’s so good, sweetheart. I need you to tell me something, ok, John?”

He got a tiny nod. John’s nails were biting so deeply into his side he was sure to have more bruises there later, but he ignored it. “Good, good, John. Just hold onto me and answer me, ok?” He tried to keep his voice soft and soothing, not letting his own worry leak out of it.

Talia was close to his ear, her voice a soft whisper into it. “Ask him what he told Gordon.”

“John.” He kissed his forehead and kept his eyes on him. “Tell me about you and Gordon; tell me what he knows, ok?”

John made a soft noise and opened his mouth, making only a choking noise at first but managed to get the words out in a wavery whisper. “I didn’t, I didn’t tell him about you, Josh, I promise. I promise.” His grip tightened further and his eyes were brighter, more manic as he glanced around the room, spotting Talia, Tommy, and he squirmed. Barsad guided him back to him.

“Just look at me, John. Come on, look at me. What does he know about, then?”

“H-he had my folder. W-when I woke up. He asked me about it.” He stopped to take a few deep breaths and Barsad rubbed his cheek.

“It’s ok, you’re doing so good,” he assured him. “What happened?”

“He said I was really good, Josh.” He closed his eyes and his body jerked slightly. “He said I’d be a really good detective, and he wanted my help. He said he’d give me a badge, but not for catching you, Josh, I wasn’t trying to help them catch you. I swear, I swear, I didn’t tell them anything I thought would do that, I…” He paused and looked back up at him and he looked guilty, so very guilty. “I told him things I thought would lead them away from you. God. God, I’m such a fuck up.”

John buried his face against his chest and he felt some wetness there. He hated seeing John cry, it was so much more rare than seeing him angry, and it was a painful reminder that sometimes John couldn’t escape that, deep down, he was a hurt little boy inside, and Barsad hurt with him; John needed him.

“You’re not, John, you’re not at all. You did really good. I know you feel bad about it, but I’m grateful you did that, ok? Very grateful.” He was, too. It meant that they wouldn’t have to worry about packing up and leaving. Barsad liked being in one place, the stability of a home made him feel better.

John nodded a little and kept his face pressed into him. “Just don’t turn the lights out again, please?”

He looked up towards Tommy pleadingly. “That was enough, brother, wasn’t it? He had done nothing. There was no need for this.”

“We had to be sure, Barsad.” Talia patted his back. “We truly thought we had a Judas among us. We have no desire to hurt him without reason.”

“But we have hurt him,” Tommy spoke softly and placed a hand on John’s head who shrank into Barsad’s body before he stilled. “And the reason proved to be without merit. You are more loyal to our brother than we believed, and I am sorry we caused you hurt, John.” His brother had a rare tone of regret to his voice, and Barsad relaxed, knowing this was over, that it would not be repeated.

“Perhaps you are right,” Talia conceded. “I cannot say I would not do it again; we needed to know. But now that we know he is so loyal to you, Barsad, this will not happen again. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” he spoke gratefully, and reluctantly let Tommy lift John up and into his arms. John squirmed a little and made an uncertain sound. “It’s alright, John. It’s alright,” he assured as Talia helped him stand. His strength given to him by the rush of fear for John quite depleted, he leaned against her for support. “Tommy’s going to take you upstairs, ok? I’m coming with you.”

“We’ll get something in you to warm you up, John,” Tommy promised as he carried him up the stairs. Barsad could still hear John’s quick breathing, but it was beginning to calm slightly.

“I do hope Bruce is still in one piece, Barsad,” Talia spoke lightly, but there was a hint of worry to her tone.

“He… may need an ice pack,” He admitted guiltily. “I will apologize to him.”

She laughed lightly. “He will probably tell you there is no need. You are both so sentimental.”

“I can’t help it… please, please don’t do this to him again, Talia. I don’t think he could take it.”

“Then he is weak.”

“He’s not. He’s just not like us. What he went through is more than what most normal people can survive. He’s strong, he’s smart… but he’s pure, innocent; innocence can’t thrive like that.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she conceded.

He leaned into her more, placing a kiss to her cheek in gratitude. Her lips curved into a smile and she leaned into it.

“Sentimental.”

_______________

He was spending an awful lot of time getting carried. It was going to go to his head soon. That was ok, he was pretty sure he was fucking crazy, anyway. He couldn’t make his breathing calm any more than it had, and he still felt cold all over. His head hurt so badly and his eyes were red and sore. He hated this so much. They’d fucking made him lose his mind just by turning out the goddamn lights and holding him down; he was such a fucking coward. He’d never been like this. He’d never even needed a nightlight growing up, and he’d slept with his closet door open, but oh God, that darkness.

They were in the kitchen, apparently this was the kitchen anyway, it was small and warm and John felt a little better at the brightness that shone in from the windows. Tommy sat down on a chair and pulled him down with him. He just held onto him and let him prop his casted leg up onto another chair. He was so fucking angry at Tommy for pulling him back down into that hell—he’d known exactly what he was doing when he did it—but he didn’t want to be alone. Whenever he blinked his eyes, he was back, and he needed to hold onto Tommy because Tommy was there and real and warm, and he rested his head against him and felt real, too. Real in that kitchen, and not in that warehouse.

He didn’t speak, but he kept his eyes open; he didn’t want to close them. Bruce was in the kitchen, and his face was twisted up into a grimace as he leaned against the counter and held an icepack to his head.

“He got me really good. I think I’m lucky I don’t need stitches.”

“Talia will look it over in a moment.”

“Is he ok?”

“M’not fucking ok,” he grit out, and coughed when the words felt like they were choking him.

“He is understandably upset,” Tommy remarked, and his fingers were running through his hair. He hated and loved it because Tommy was such an asshole, such a fucking asshole for taking him down there, but God, those fingers were running over his scalp, working loose the tensed up skin there and making him feel calmer.

Josh was guided into the kitchen and sat down carefully beside him, leaning on the table for support. He should be sitting back on the couch, or lying down, but John couldn’t bring himself to voice it, not when that meant they wouldn’t be in the same room. He felt his fingers reach out and trail across his arm. He was ok, Josh was ok, they were both ok.

Talia put on the kettle looked over Bruce’s head while it boiled. “Oh Barsad, you’ve given him such a bump.”

“I am sorry, brother.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce waved his hand dismissively and Talia shook her head. She fixed him a cup of tea and he had the sudden thought of tossing half of it in Tommy’s face and the other half in hers, but dreaded the repercussions for such an action. He took a careful drink from the mug. It was laced heavily with honey and lemon, and it coated over his throat so well that he felt like he could breathe a little easier as it warmed his insides, too.

He took a few more slow swallows then looked up at Tommy, glaring, his voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears when he spoke. “You said no harm would come to me, here. Those were your own fucking words.”

Tommy sighed and his warm hand rubbed at John’s belly. He squirmed in his lap. He had known not to trust him, he KNEW it, so it shouldn’t have made him feel like throwing up that it was Tommy who had dragged him down there. “I thought you had betrayed Barsad, John. I thought you had thrown him to the wolves for the paltry prize of a detective shield.”

He felt anger rage up inside of him, and he rose up against Tommy to twist in his lap and glare. “I would NEVER do that! How could you ever think that!” The shouting ripped up his throat more, but the very idea had him almost seeing red.

Tommy put a hand on his head and guided him back down. “Do you feel the anger inside of you at the thought such a betrayal, John? This is what we felt, as well. We would do anything to keep our brother safe.”

“You had… you had NO fucking right,” he swore, and God, he hated that he couldn’t just get up and walk away.

Tommy’s thumb rubbed his temple lightly. “We did not know you were so loyal to him, John. It is behind us, now.”

“It’s not fucking behind ME.”

“It will be in time,” Talia assured smoothly as she sat down across from him at the table and held her own cup of tea. “We will consider this growing pains for our family.”

“I am NOT your fucking family.”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips and he froze. “You are our brother, now. You do not have you own family, do you? We are adopting you into our own.”

He shook his head when she lifted her finger. “This isn’t the SPCA; I’m not some fucking puppy you can just adopt.”

She merely smiled at him. “Little brother, you have such foul mouth on you, and you can control it so little.”

“Don’t call me that,” he groused, and pushed Tommy’s hand away from his head while he was at it. “Just stop doing all of that stuff.”

Josh gave his arm a squeeze and that was ok. Josh had saved him again. He reached out and held onto his hand. He felt like his breathing was finally under control and his head wasn’t pounding anymore like the blood was going to leak right out of his ears. He sipped his tea quietly and focused on Josh, the light streaming in from the window, and, begrudgingly, how warm Tommy was when he leaned against him.

He watched as Talia checked over Bruce’s head again and he couldn’t help but ask what Josh had done.

“Your mug. I’m sorry; I’ll get you a new one,” Josh promised, giving him a playful wink. John laughed quietly, his body shaking with it.

“It went to a good cause.”

“Ouch,” Bruce remarked with a twist of his lips but he seemed amused.

“Do you feel well enough to sit on your own?” Tommy sat up a bit and separated their bodies in the process.

His hands shot out and gripped his arms. He felt embarrassed as hell when his breathing sped up. Tommy looked at him curiously and guided him back down, settled his head back against his chest. No one said a word about it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to, not when he felt like the floor dropped out from under him when he suddenly hadn’t been pressed up tight against Tommy’s strong frame. It was just because Josh couldn’t hold him, that was all.

Instead of getting up, Tommy kept holding him, and Talia worked with Bruce to finish making dinner under Tommy’s verbal instruction. He wasn’t hungry, he really wasn’t, not after that. He didn’t want to worry Josh, though, and after it had been in the oven for a while, the shepherd’s pie that had been put together did start to smell good. He’d probably eat a little, after all.

While it baked, Talia turned on a small radio in the kitchen and he was surprised when she pulled Bruce close to her and danced slowly to the music with him, running a hand down the back of his neck as he held her hips. Josh ended up getting pulled up carefully to join them, and was slipped in between their bodies, his head resting on Talia’s shoulder.

“Don’t keep him on his feet for too long,” Tommy cautioned as he rubbed John’s back in time with the slow strings playing.

“Just this song,” Talia assured while Bruce wrapped his arms around Josh, holding him up as they all swayed slowly around the kitchen together. It was kind of enthralling to watch them, how Josh’s shoulders were loose and relaxed as he leaned against Talia, trusting them both to keep him on his feet, his eyes closed and his lips bowed into a content smile. He didn’t like to admit it, and he didn’t want any part of it, but that was family right there he was looking at. When the song finished, they guided him back to his chair, Bruce giving him a firm kiss then running a quick hand through Josh’s hair.

“We’re not staying for dinner. We have some plans for the night,” Bruce explained when Talia only took out three plates and Bruce served them out the food.

That didn’t seem suspicious at all. He thought of the last time Tommy said he was going out, and now them going out again. It felt like whenever someone left the house, something terrible happened.

“God, just please don’t bring back anybody to kill,” he couldn’t help but plead out loud. He couldn’t take any more screaming tonight.

“This is Tommy’s site, not ours,” Bruce shrugged. “I have my own, and Talia does not use a permanent one.”

“I’m so glad you’re all so original.”

Talia ignored him and took Josh’s hands. “Will you need someone soon, Barsad? I’m sure you can use Bruce’s site, and we can find someone for you so you can rest until it is time.”

John felt a sinking in his chest when Josh glanced at him and clearly hesitated. “I… not just yet; in about a week’s time.”

“We’ll find someone for you and bring you back to my place for it,” Bruce told him. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Goodbye, brothers.”

It was uncomfortable to know that Bruce was including him in that farewell.


	22. Chapter 22

It was even more uncomfortable when they all exchanged kisses and most of them meant that John was trapped between their bodies for it. He froze both times it happened and half expected them to try it on him, too, but he simply got another hair pat from Bruce and a slow cheek stroke from Talia before they were gone from the house.

Dinner was quiet, and by the end of it he was maybe feeling ok about detaching himself from Tommy, but Tommy didn’t say anything about it so he wasn’t going to mention it when he was carried back to the bedroom with Josh following along carefully. It wasn’t late, and he wasn’t tired, but these attacks took so much out of his body, energy that was already supposed to be going to knitting up his leg.

Tommy sat with his back to the headboard, and maybe John was just more tired than he thought because he didn’t say anything when Tommy guided him against him, wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek. He was just tired. Josh slid onto the bed, lying down beside them and laying his head on John’s lap carefully, trailing his fingers down his cast.

“You are both still upset with my actions,” Tommy stated. His fingers were drumming across John’s side, almost fidgeting, like the idea of that didn’t sit well with him.

“Of course I fucking am,” he muttered, and Josh didn’t say anything, but he stilled his hand on top of his cast.

He looked at him, seeming genuinely curious. “What would you have done, in my place?”

“NOT tortured me, obviously.”

“We do things for family, out of love. Love is cruel at times, and it is rarely moral. You lied to the police, did you not?”

He looked down at that and felt his stomach twist when Josh looked up at him. It wasn’t like he’d never lied to the police before. He’d had some run-ins before he straightened up, but not like this. He hadn’t lied knowingly to the commissioner’s face, to someone who trusted him, to let a killer go free. “It’s not the same.”

“It was an action that went against your own personal morals, that you were uncomfortable with, but did anyway for the sake of Barsad, who you consider family, do you not?”

“It’s not the fucking same! You don’t have any damn morals.”

“I was not comfortable taking you down there, John. I did not like seeing you so upset, not when I have come to see you as family in such a short time.”

John shook his head at that. He didn’t. Tommy was a monster and he barely knew John, he wasn’t going to be convinced that he actually cared about him. Josh cared about him. Josh was the only person who ever cared about him.

“You do not believe me?”

“Of course not.”

His head was tilted up and he wanted to look away, but Tommy had him trapped with his eyes. “Denying the connection we both feel forming between us will not make it cease to be, John.”

“Yes it will. Yes it fucking will.” He closed his eyes, not having meant to say that out loud, but God, it needed to be true.

“It’s ok, sweetheart.” Josh took his hand and held it firmly, lacing his slender fingers between his.

“It’s not. God, nothing is fucking ok.” His voice was small even to him, but it wasn’t. Nothing was ok at all, not when he didn’t know what was going on inside his own head anymore, which thoughts were his and which had wriggled their way into his brain from the accident, from this abduction, from everything in his life changing. He didn’t know what was him anymore.

“John, little brother, I am truly sorry I scared you.” Tommy’s warm lips brushed against his forehead and God, he just sounded so sincere, like he really did feel bad, like he really did care, but Josh was the only one who was supposed to care. “I hope one day you will feel safe with me.”

Why did he want to cry at that? Christ. He was fucking losing it.

_______________

When John fell into a fitful rest, Barsad kissed his cheek and held his hand, soothing him into something more pleasant. Tommy watched them, made sure John was settled before he pulled Barsad into his arms for a kiss. They exchanged them lazily and spoke softly to one another. Barsad was still upset, he knew and understood this, and it was such a rare event that it sat heavily with him.

“I hurt when he hurts, brother,” he explained, playing over the scars on Tommy’s knuckles.

“I hurt when any of you hurt,” he agreed. “But it is something I have had to grow used to, to strengthen myself against; how else could I cleanse you?”

“He is too gentle for cleansing.”

“Many would argue the same for you.” He scratched his fingers through his beard, getting a contented hum. “But you are stronger than you seem, and I feel that he is, as well.”

He made Barsad rest then, as he did some research, balancing his laptop onto his leg as both boys lay out on either side of him. There were many possibilities to consider for the next righteous kill, and he had time, but John was proving to be a bit of a handful and so he wished to make arrangements and decisions while there was a moment of calm.

The next week or so was spent in a quiet sort of way. John was still so very skittish, but it was easy to pull him against his side, to get him to calm when Barsad wrapped his arms around him. John was fighting quite verbally the idea of family, that was to be certain, but his body language spoke of a very different range of emotions. He was easy to hold, his head relaxed against his chest in moments when he sat down beside him, and it was not unusual to find his fingers curled around Barsad’s, or gripping lightly onto the hem of Tommy’s shirt. Tommy knew that John had spent many lonely years, and the allure of family was a strong beacon for him no matter how he might deny it.

Barsad’s strength returned to him and he was ecstatic when Tommy finally relented and gave him permission to be up and about again. He didn’t personally understand why when he ended up spending much of his time sitting or lying down with John anyway. They played cards, watched TV, Barsad even took John out onto the back porch for some fresh air; it was chilly out, and they drank tea while John studied the surrounding area with obvious interest, trying to figure out where he was. It was entertaining because he had only to ask and he would be told exactly where they were.

Barsad nodded and exchanged hellos with one of their few neighbors, holding John’s twitching hand lightly as the older woman struck up a light conversation. Tommy stood in the doorway and gave the woman a slight smile, keeping an eye on John, watching his eyes flick nervously towards him. He was a smart boy, though; he hadn’t said anything beyond a hello, and the woman had merely remarked what a charming young man he seemed to be, with a bit of a pointed wink at Barsad before she retreated back to her own home. His brother leaned into his ear after and kissed it, whispering that he’d done very well, and thanking him for not making things difficult. John had looked unsure at that, but had leaned against Barsad more, watching a dusting of snow lay out over the lawn.

Bruce and Talia spent another night home with them, and Tommy was happy to share Talia’s bed with them throughout the night once more, but they were absent often during the day. It was not at all unusual for them; even when Talia was visiting she was a wanderer in spirit, and Bruce had many items to address during the day to keep up his appearances.  Tommy also suspected they were giving John time to settle down more. They were there now, though, standing close together, and it still felt wonderful to see that bond regrowing.

John was at the kitchen table with Barsad, they’d often enlisted John’s help in the cooking to give him something to do. Talia smiled and waved to John playfully, who looked away and focused on the vegetables he was cutting.

“We came to collect you up, little lamb.” Her fingers sifted though Barsad’s hair and she leaned over him, tilting his head back to kiss his forehead. “We found you a slaughter.”

John’s hand slipped and the knife scraped across the cutting board, narrowly avoiding his fingertips. Barsad looked over at him and put a hand on his arm. “Perhaps it should wait longer,” he said uncertainly. Bruce shook his head.

“Waiting isn’t going to make it easier, and you’ll only make it worse on yourself by putting it off. Do you really want to risk another slip so soon?”

“No, no I don’t,” Barsad agreed quickly, and leaned close to John, wrapping his arms around him. Tommy was fairly certain the lower whispers to the boy’s ear were apologies. John’s handle on the knife tightened so his knuckles were white for a few moments, but he kept still. He didn’t argue. He had honestly expected more of a fight about it, perhaps some pleading for Barsad to fight his inner demons. John set the knife down and wrapped his arms tightly around Barsad and held him for a few moments, breathing a bit heavier before he slowly let go. It was clear Barsad had expected more, as well, and seemed relieved, kissing John’s cheek before heading out with Bruce and Talia.

He pulled out a chair and sat down beside John, watching him stare down at the cutting board for a few long moments.

“John?”

John took a low shaky breath and Tommy quietly lifted an arm in offering. John closed his eyes tightly and leaned into him, pressing his face against his chest. “Jesus. Jesus Christ. He’s really going to go kill someone.” The words were muffled against his chest, like the idea was truly just now sinking into his mind. Tommy simply held him, running a hand down John’s back.

_______________

He hadn’t told him no. He hadn’t even tried. He had just listened to Josh’s quiet apology in his ear, his promise that Bruce would have found someone who had done something wrong, that he was so sorry he needed this, and he loved him and would be back soon. He should have. He should have fought about it, and he hadn’t, and now he was here with just Tommy while Josh was going to stab someone, cut them into itty bitty pieces and come back home like it never happened. God, he was a selfish prick, willing to let someone else die because he wanted Josh to be ok. When Tommy offered his arm, he didn’t hesitate. Why not? He’d sold his goddamn soul already.

Tommy didn’t say anything, and he’d learned over the past few days that that was more his nature. He was quiet strength, speaking mostly when order was needed or when spoken to.  He didn’t usually start conversations, though he kept them up well and clearly enjoyed them when they happened. That meant the kitchen was quiet except for his own strained breathing as he tried to quietly pull himself together. He gripped at Tommy’s shirt, taking a breath or two.

“I-I should finish cutting up the carrots.”

Tommy merely patted his head. “It can wait; or, if you are no longer hungry, it can be forgotten.”

“I don’t think I could eat, not knowing…”

“That is understandable, John. No one thinks this is easy for you.” They really didn’t, either. He could tell; they didn’t expect him to just go along with it even though they treated him just the same either way. He’d tried to slip out of the bedroom the night before, that being the second or third attempt to do it, and each time Tommy had merely carried him back quietly, ignoring his struggles, tucking him back into bed and handcuffing one of his wrists to the bed like it was nothing, patting his back lightly until he went back to sleep. They just accepted the fact that he was going to try to escape as part of their lives, and treated him like he belonged, anyway.

He nodded a little, sighing when Tommy stroked through his hair and helped him back to the bedroom. The living room was ok when they wanted to watch TV, but the couch shifted in a way that made his leg ache after too long, so when Josh found that out most of their activities became bedroom activities; it was less fun than it sounded because, with the exception of Tommy going to Talia’s room again with Bruce for one night, he had been in bed with them, so nothing was going to happen there.

Josh might have snuck a hand around him and stroked him off again the night they were home together and very loud through the walls again. God, it was embarrassing that it happened again and that he’d gone off again just as quickly. He couldn’t help how they sounded. It was their own damn fault, and Josh didn’t have to whisper in his ear about how they felt or tease him after he came all over himself, either. He really just didn’t. It just wasn’t fair to pick on an injured man like that.

Tommy settled him on the bed with some pillows to prop him up. “Do you wish to be alone?”

God, he really didn’t. He shook his head quickly, and Tommy simply climbed into bed with him and picked up the deck of cards.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can really play right now.” He brought his good leg up and rested his chin on it. He felt like he was being pulled in so many different directions. Tommy merely nodded and set the deck down.

“It is best to do something to take your mind from it. What can be done?”

“I don’t…” he hesitated. “Could you maybe, I don’t know, read out loud or something?” He’d done it once before, when Josh had woken up during the night whimpering softly. He’d gathered him into his lap and read the words from one of his texts against his ear by the faint nightlight until Josh has fallen back asleep. John had been lulled off by the softly spoken words, as well.

“Of course, John.” Tommy pulled his current book from the nightstand and John leaned against him, felt him wrap a strong arm over his shoulder, and closed his eyes. He hated how safe he felt. It had barely been a week or two, barely even a week or two since he knew Tommy had killed someone, less than that since he’d been dragged down into the dark basement, but everything Tommy had done since then had been so warm and gentle and so damn safe.

He couldn’t fall for Tommy. It was bad enough that he couldn’t give up Josh.


	23. Chapter 23

Tommy read softly, his strange accent making words that John would have thought boring before suddenly seem different and interesting, and he became caught up in the book’s current debate even though he only understood maybe a quarter of it.

“I don’t get it,” he suddenly spoke out, making Tommy pause and make a questioning sound.

“This part… I don’t get what they mean.” He probably shouldn’t have interrupted and rather let Tommy’s voice lull him to sleep, but he wasn’t really tired, too busy trying not to think about Josh, so he’d been trying to follow along.

“Ah.” Tommy explained carefully, and John was surprised when he broke it down into simple explanations how much more sense it made.

“I don’t see why they couldn’t just say that. You explained it better.”

“I’m sure people sell more books when they use bigger words.”

Tommy had just made a joke.

Maybe he laughed just a little.

He got a slight smile in return and, after a question or two, an affectionate rub to the back of his neck. That’s how he rubs Josh’s neck, his brain reminded him, Bruce’s and Talia’s, too. Tommy liked to touch his family on the neck. That should seem a little threatening considering the blood that had been on those hands, but it didn’t feel dangerous at all when his fingers dug and pushed into the muscles there a bit, rubbing into them and making them loosen as he continued to read.

John watched his face as he read. God, his lips. His fucking lips. No one should have lips like that. They were so distracting. Especially when he knew what they felt like when he really shouldn’t.

“You are very quiet again. Did you have another question?”

He blinked in surprise and quickly shook his head. “No, no, I was just… I’m sorry, spacing out.”

“I do not mind.” His hand cupped the back of his neck now and gave a slow firm squeeze, kneading the muscle beneath his hand. His eyes lowered and to his mortification he let out a low groan. Tommy made an amused sound and repeated the motion. “Is that to your liking?”

“You could be a masseur,” he admitted, because there was no point in denying it when he’d just made that noise.

“I was taught. When Bruce broke his back, I learned to help ease his pain.”

“Did you really break it?” he found he couldn’t help asking.

There was a pause, and then the massage proceeded down his spine slowly. His fingers working between each knob of his spine, making him melt a bit. “I did.”

“I’m not even going to ask why.” He really didn’t want to know. Honestly, he had enough on his plate.

Tommy just rubbed between his shoulder blades and he groaned again. Sitting with the cast making his leg hold one pose at all times could make his entire body ache from the unnaturalness of it. This was a relief.

“That is your choice, but if you ever wish to know, I would tell you. We have no plans to keep secrets from you, little brother.”

“Don’t call me little, or brother,” he complained mildly, but his heart wasn’t in it, even he knew that. “I’m not little.”

“You are so young in your heart, John, as young as Josh is gentle.” His hand slid down his back then crept under his shirt, rubbing against his skin, pushing carefully into his spine and John might have squirmed around a little like a blissful cat, but he would absolutely never admit that to anyone, ever. He might have pushed against Tommy more than he meant to, twisted so that his face was in his neck when he moaned lightly against it. Tommy might have nuzzled into his hair a little and taken a deep breath as he rubbed, but if he did, that shouldn’t have made John shudder and feel warmth pool in his stomach.

“You are being very distracting, John.” The words were a tease of hot air against his scalp, and he made a soft sound against his neck before he grabbed up a handful of his shirt and somehow ended up kissing Tommy with a moan, pressing roughly against the man’s ridiculous lips, licking at them and demanding he open them so he could taste him. Tommy’s hand slid into his hair and gripped tightly, pulled on John’s hair enough that it sent a thrill down his spine when his mouth finally opened for him and their tongues met. He bit roughly at Tommy’s lip, because damn it, he had taken too long, and God, they could have been kissing all of this whole time and that was just such a waste.

He heard the soft sound of the book being tossed lightly onto the bed then Tommy’s other hand was running down his chest, feeling over him through the thin material of his t-shirt, just the barest of touches before that warm hand suddenly cupped over his crotch, fondling him through the thick cotton there. He pushed back and gasped, trying to rock up, but that fucking cast. God, he hated that fucking cast. He grabbed onto Tommy’s hand and pulled him against him more tightly, moaning; if he couldn’t move, the least he could do was take care of that for him.

“John…” His name was barely a whisper against his ear when thick, wet lips mouthed at the corner of his jaw, making him sigh and tilt his head back.

“Come on, just do it.” He didn’t want to talk about it. He knew how fucking stupid this was and he defintely didn't want to talk or think about it.Tommy could find a better time to finally start conversation on his own.

“What would you like?”

He wanted to curse him out for making him admit to it, but he knew that’s not why he was asking. He was asking because he didn’t want to go too far. A pair of thick fingers pinched over his nipple, tugging at it through his shirt and he arched and squirmed breathlessly for it. “F-fuck! I… I don’t know, I don’t know, ok? Just do whatever.”

Tommy hummed softly against his jaw, kissing it again. “I am not certain that is a good idea, John. I would like very much to be inside of you, but I do not wish to upset your cast, or your mind.”

Oh God, he shouldn’t want that, he shouldn’t have ground up against Tommy’s hand with a desperate noise when he said that. This was fucking stupid, this was so fucking dumb. “Just, just SOMETHING, please, Tommy.” God, he sounded so needy. He hated it. He was so damn horny, though; how could he be feeling this turned on right now? He felt like he was burning up inside, desperate for SOMETHING.

“Alright, alright, John, let me.” He lifted his hand from him despite his protests and worked his sweats down over the cast and off. John tugged off his shirt, feeling flushed and dizzy, his arousal flush against his stomach, red and hot and needy.

“You too, you too,” he demanded, pulling at Tommy’s shirt and Tommy obeyed, pulling it off, working his own pants off until John could rub his hands over his chest and stomach, staring at all of the bulk of him, his skin practically glowing in the soft light of the room.

Tommy groaned low in his throat, almost a rumble as he was touched. He leaned over his body, seeming to be considering their options. “Would you enjoy it if I fingered you to climax, John?”

John almost bit his tongue and grunted at the words. They were spoken so casually, not to be dirty-talk even, just an honestly filthy question expecting an equally honest, filthy answer. His legs practically tried to snap apart at it, only his good leg able to shift away and spread for him as he nodded, not trusting himself not to say something incredibly stupid if he opened his mouth.

Tommy pulled him carefully so he was lying down and reached over him, stretching out to the dresser and snatching up a bottle of lube. John wasn’t blind, he’d seen it before and had steadfastly ignored it. Now, though, he watched as it was flicked open and poured out over those thick fingers. They rubbed together slowly until his fingers were coated, wet with it, and Tommy looked at him again, seemed to be evaluating him.

“You are sure?”

He grabbed onto his wrist and tugged him down towards him. Why should he have to repeat himself? God, the tip of his finger was rough even with the lube; the tough skin on the pad of it snagged against the furls of his skin and he whimpered at the sudden sharp sensation, feeling himself clenching and relaxing as Tommy kissed him as he worked, letting the slipperiness gather over his pucker and ease the feeling of rough skin rubbing him there, teasing all along in little circles that made him whine low in his throat and his blood pulse hot with desire. Josh always tormented him about how sensitive he was there, but he couldn’t help that, and if Tommy didn’t stop just teasing there he was going to go crazy.

“In, come on, in,” he chanted his demand against his lips, trying to push onto his fingertips, but goddamn that fucking cast. He could feel Tommy’s smile even as they kissed, and he bit his lip again. “IN.” He wasn’t going to deal with that bullshit.

Then, thank god, Tommy relented and slowly worked a finger into him. God, it was thick, a rich, slow burn; he could feel it ache a little more than when Josh worked him open. Josh’s fingers were slender and graceful, they gently worked him into open pliancy; Tommy’s were a firm, calm demand to loosen for him and John’s body was quick to obey, clenching then relaxing against the digit as it stroked inside of him, another pushing at his entrance quickly, rubbing across his rim before it was pushed in and Tommy twisted them into him, making his head drop back and a low cry fall from his lips.

“T-Tommy! Come on, come on,” he stammered when those fingers went still. He didn’t need to wait. He wasn’t some blushing virgin anymore, and he wasn’t made of fucking glass. “Come on, FUCK me with them.”

“Always such language, John.” And John wanted to laugh hysterically at the light reprimand because, really, he was going to get a lecture on cursing from Tommy when he was two fingers deep in him? He moved his fingers, though, plunged them into John quickly, and John could hear him breathing faster as he watched them disappearing into John’s body. God, he felt so hot everywhere, he gasped for air and wished he had enough leverage to push back at those thick, slippery fingers, they felt so good inside.

An almost wounded cry fell from his lips when they dragged heavily over that wonderful spot inside that Josh had made sure to help him get to know very, very well. “F-fuck!” Tommy paused to consider his reaction and then replayed the motion with his fingers, making John swear again and writhe as pleasure shot down his spine like electricity.

The third finger almost undid him, so slick and hot; Tommy’s knuckles were large and were forced against his rim every time they pushed into him. Three was so much when Tommy spread them out slowly, made him arch his back and cry out when he twisted them around and thrust them deep. He didn’t hit his prostate every thrust, but it was often enough, and with such a grinding pressure against it, that each time made him practically see spots. Three fingers, three thick fingers and they felt like four of Josh’s, he was so full. His cock was so hard and red.

He brought his hand down to palm it, almost afraid that Tommy would pull some kind of power trip and not let him touch it, but he just watched, his eyes clouded with desire as John jerked himself frantically. He was so good, so good and so full and he just needed a little more, just a little more.

A fourth pushed gently at his hole and he bit his lip to keep from shouting.

“That one, as well?” Tommy asked. His voice was so thick and low, God, just hearing it made John’s cock twitch, not that it needed any help, not when it was leaking out all over him on its own.

He could take it, he could take four. He nodded and it was work to get that last little finger in, but he felt himself stretch further, God, so far open, he felt so open for Tommy and his body was aching from it, he was burning up inside and it hurt a little, that stretch, but he felt so good inside.

Tommy was watching him so closely, his eyes felt like they were memorizing every single bead of sweat on his body, every twitch of his muscles, and he felt so open and exposed by his eyes and his hand working into him, relentlessly deep inside of him.

“You’re almost there, let me take you to your edge” John wanted to protest; he didn’t feel like he wanted it to end so quickly, but at the same time he wanted to come so badly. He could feel his body  ticking closer, building up higher and he wanted to come so badly, so he nodded instead.

Tommy placed his fingertips firmly on his abdomen and traced the skin there before a brief moment, seeming to settle where he wanted. Then he dug his fingers into the muscle there and rubbed, hard. John practically wailed when his other fingers rubbed hard against him inside in perfect harmony. It was like Tommy was rubbing his prostate inside and out and it was so good that his body thrashed under the attentions. He exploded out in a hot gush all over his own chest, feeling a sling or two of come hitting against his neck even, whimpering when the force of it bordered on painful.

Tommy’s hand left his abdomen as he panted out, feeling hazy. It took him a few moments before he realized he was hearing the soft sound of flesh stroking flesh, and he looked to see Tommy’s hand wrapped around himself. God, he was thick, hard, hard for him, stroking himself while his fingers were still buried inside of John. He wanted that. He needed that.

“Tommy, come here, I want to suck you,” he groaned out low, because honestly, with all Josh and him had done, and even though he’d learned he was worth a lot more than just his mouth, he still really did love sucking cock, and Tommy looked so good. He shifted on the bed so he could kneel close to his head, and John was so sorry to feel those fingers sliding out of him one by one, shivering when the last left and he felt suddenly empty, but he could fix that. He knew what to do to not feel so empty. He twisted to brace himself on his elbow, and ran a hand down Tommy, getting an appreciative sound before he licked out over the tip of him.

He wasn’t cut, just like Josh, which had been weird for him at first, but now he loved it. He licked and teased over the skin there, sucking it and pressing his tongue under the edge of it with a happy hum. Tommy sounded good, heavy breaths and low sounds of pleasure that suited him so well. His hand slipped down to cradle his head, but he didn’t force him any further, which, honestly, John thought deserved a reward so he sucked him down more anyway, feeling the thickness of him filling up his mouth, stretching his jaw, bitter slippery juices and saliva filling up his mouth so much that he had to swallow down, drawing him in even deeper in the process. The process always left him feeling heady, made the world slow down until it was just the feeling of sucking and fingers against his scalp, just what he wanted. He didn't have to think like this, not about Josh off killing people, not about anything.

“John…” A just barely there whisper of his name fell from Tommy’s lips, and it made him shiver. It made him want to work harder, made him want to hear it again. He ran his fingers against the base of his cock encouragingly, bobbed his head and took what he could of that thickness. He nearly choked on it in his eagerness, something he’d thought he’d long ago learned to not get overeager enough to do. Tommy was so wet and thick, though, and he wanted to taste him. This was pure craziness right now, and in the back of his mind he knew it, but the back of his mind could go fuck itself while John got to taste Tommy’s come.

He was getting close, he could tell by the twitches of his hips, the way his nails dug into his scalp. Every so often a soft “John” fell from his lips and brushed down against John’s spine in a shiver, making him feel powerful that he was able to pull them out of him.

“J-John.” The word was a stammer now, and John didn’t know that a man so powerful could stammer, he whined in response and pulled back, rubbing his cheek against him, kissing over him.

“Come on, come on, DO it.”

Tommy thrust against his cheek, leaving a sticky trail there as John licked over him, then he groaned low in his throat, and John felt the wetness splashing across his face, long hot ropes of it dripping down along his lips, and he flicked his tongue out to taste the bitter saltiness there. He felt his own body finally relaxing and he flopped back, panting, feeling warm fingers tracing over the come on his face.

“That better not be the fingers that were just inside of me,” he managed to mumble, his voice maybe cracking just a little. He heard a soft chuckle.

“I would never. Let me clean you.” He nodded and felt Tommy’s weight leave the bed, hearing water running in the bathroom before Tommy came back with clean hands and some damp cloths, cleaning him up carefully. It felt nice, and he smiled a little when a clean finger traced over his lip.

“I’d still get out of here in a heartbeat,” he warned with a sleepy murmur, biting down lightly on the finger.

“And leave Josh?” Tommy didn’t sound angry, merely curious.

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’d take Josh.”

“And leave me behind.”

He wrinkled his eyebrows sleepily. That didn’t seem very fair at the moment, either. “Maybe I’d take you, too.”

He heard a light chuckle as Tommy lay back down beside him. “Or perhaps we could just remain here, as we are all here now, anyway.”

Well that was just silly. He made sure to inform Tommy of that after he yawned. That got him a kiss and a smile, then a warm hand stroking against his belly. This was crazy, just crazy, but he felt good and sated and so safe that it was actually obscenely ridiculous, and so he fell asleep instead of freaking out over the fact that he’d just had sex with Tommy which he absolutely should not have done.


	24. Chapter 24

_______________

She had been pretty, very pretty, and that prettiness had been a lie. It had made the thick black in him well up more to know that she lied with her pretty face.  He lashed out more than usual, though perhaps that was simply because of all of the stress of the past few weeks; either way, her end had not been pleasant. She had screamed loudly when he had let the darkness have her, and in Bruce’s cave he could let her without a gag because no one would help her there. When it receded, he blinked up to the surface, holding pieces of what she used to be, feeling his sister’s fingers threading through his hair as she crouched beside him.

“Do you feel better?”

He nodded in relief. He’d been edgy and twitching on the drive over. Bruce had needed to hold his hands a bit to still them. His darkness had been pulling at him for the past day or so, and he had needed the kill, had been so grateful that his family had set it up for him so no hunt was needed on his part.

Talia had glanced back at him from her spot at the wheel. “You should perhaps not have waited this long, Barsad; what if you had hurt your John?”

He shuddered at the very idea and apologized to them both. He had wanted to wait until John had settled before he left him. He hated leaving him to take care of this, especially knowing how John felt about it. Oh, how he’d needed it, though, and now he felt calm again, the dark pulled out of his veins, slithering from his heart and retreating back to some place deep inside where it would be bottled up for a time until it began to leak again.

He washed his hands now, his arms, his face, carefully, very carefully in the sink until the water ran from red to pink to clear and clean. Bruce and Talia were nice enough to hose down his slicker and boots while he cleaned up his body from the aftermath.

“I’ll dispose of it with mine,” Bruce reassured him and he had been calm, very calm, so Barsad knew he was not the only one who had used the cave that day. He thanked him and showered carefully, changing into fresh clothing and joining them in the house when he was ready.

They were peering over one of Bruce’s computers quite suspiciously.

“Spying on my boyfriend again?” he asked mildly, dropping his towel onto Talia’s head, making her laugh lightly and push at his side.

“Not on him per se, just looking into his life a bit. He was in a lot of foster homes.” Bruce scrolled down a list of names as he spoke.

Barsad nodded. “He mentioned it once. Eventually, he went to a boy’s home. He does not speak of it much, for obvious reasons.”

Bruce hummed softly in agreement and Barsad shifted uncomfortably as John’s official life was splayed out in front of them on Bruce’s computer screen, facts displayed, cold and lifeless as any kill. It felt wrong to learn about him this way. “If you have questions, can you not simply ask him?”

“We were just looking in on things, Barsad,” Talia assured him, running a hand down his arm and pulling him to sit with her on the couch.

“What’s he doing about the academy with his leg right now?” Bruce turned in his chair to look at them.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“And what about the commissioner? John just disappeared off the face of the earth after seeing a serial killer. That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

Barsad faltered at that. “Are they… looking for him?”

Bruce gave him a slightly smug smile. “We’ve been busy taking care of that. See? It’s good that we’ve been poking around. Did you know that I used to sponsor John? I met him on a trip to St. Swithin’s when he was younger, and he caught my eye. I’ve been keeping an eye out for him ever since, and when I found out he was in the hospital all alone after an attack? Well, I wasn’t going to just leave him alone like that.”

Talia laughed lightly at the surprise on Barsad’s face, running a finger down his nose playfully. “That is, at least, what the commissioner has been told.”

Bruce smirked a little and held up his hand like he was talking on the phone, clearly mimicking an earlier conversation. “John doesn’t like handouts, Gordon, but I told him there wasn’t any way I was letting him stay in that apartment of his alone. He’s pretty shaken up even if he’s not saying so. I’m going to keep an eye on him until he gets better.” Talia laughed lightly as Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully, pretending to be listening. “Security? Oh no, I can get him a bodyguard if he didn’t feel safe, but he’s pretty persistent about being ok. I’m sure he’ll be up for more questions in a couple of weeks or so. Of course, I’ll tell him you checked in; say hi to the kids for me.”

Barsad was begrudgingly impressed. “Perhaps… it is good that you pried,” he admitted quietly, smiling ruefully when Talia tousled his hair.

“That is what we are here for, are we not?” She smiled with him and crawled up his body, nuzzling at the crook of his neck. He sighed lightly and let his head drop back onto the couch, running his fingers against the palm of her hand.

“Yes, sister…” he breathed out as she kissed up to his lips. They had been working to keep John with them, and the last bits of upset he’d been holding onto since their taking John to the basement drifted away when he realized how much they cared to keep them together. She pressed against his mouth firmly, smudging the light tinted gloss she kept on her lips onto his own. He swore she liked to do it on purpose, make it obvious who they belonged to if someone were to match up the shade with her mouth. She was more than a little possessive at times. None of them minded; sometimes family was about being possessive.

He traced a hand down her back. She was wearing a silky green dress that exposed her back to his fingertips. Talia preferred practicality in her clothing when she had no one to impress, fashionable but simple tops, well cut pants. A dress meant that she had been on the hunt recently, blending into the surrounding upper class and pulling information from them easily with her sultry looks and endless charm. No one said no to her alluring smoky eyes, and more than a few had died from it. The silky fabric bunched at her thighs, exposing her soft curves, and he couldn’t resist rubbing his hand up her knee and brushing across the silky skin of her thigh. Her mouth dropped open and she sighed breathily against his lips.

“Are you still going to pretend you don’t wish to be inside of me at this very moment, Barsad?”

He shook his head, making a soft sound as she bit and pulled at his lip. He’d never said he didn’t desire her, only that he could not do it. Still, his hand slid further up her thigh until he was sliding his hand up her dress and cupping the soft curve of her ass. It was easier to resist something when she wasn’t in his lap, smelling beautiful and running her hands down his chest. She made an appreciative noise and he ran his finger under the lacy material of her panties before reluctantly pulling his hand back and giving her a remorseful smile. “Sister…”

She sighed and put her fingers over his bitten lower lip. “I’m going to seduce John myself if you don’t convince him to join in.”

He moaned against her fingers at the idea. He wasn’t entirely sure why she considered that to be a threat.

“And maybe I’ll keep him all to myself for a little while. Make you so sorry for denying me.”

Ah.

He kissed her fingers, mouthing over them lightly in apology. “I am sorry I cannot please you in this.”

She made an amused noise and rubbed her nose lightly against his. “It will not last much longer, I think. How can a sweet boy like John resist this?” She laughed lightly and gestured to her own body ever so modestly, pulling a chuckle from both him and Bruce.

“I’m not sure if he even likes women,” he admitted.

She shrugged lightly, pressing against him for a kiss once more before she slid off of him and sat back down on the couch, holding a hand out for Bruce. “Whether he recognizes it or not, some part of him likes darkness, and power. I have seen the way he looks at Tommy. It drew him to you, too, perhaps, though he may not realize it.”

He watched in distraction as Bruce stood from his chair and dropped down carefully between her thighs. She pulled lightly on his hair, mussing it as he kissed his way up her inner thigh and brought his hands up to slide down her panties. He groaned. They were going to torture him by making him watch this when they knew he could not join in. His family was awful at times.

_______________

There were footsteps by the bed and John stirred, feeling the bed dip behind him and Josh’s arm suddenly slide around his waist. He made a slightly aggravated noise at being woken because it was definitely not morning yet and he was still feeling sleepy and a little sore. If Josh was going to fuck him raw, then the least he could do was not wake him up in the middle of the night crawling into bed and let him sleep it off.

Except that wasn’t right at all, now was it? He stilled a little at the realization, and as Josh kissed his shoulder in apology. Oh God.

“M’sorry, sweetheart; didn’t mean to wake you.”

Oh God.

Tommy’s arm was draped lightly over his chest, and he was squished between them now when Josh slipped up closer and sighed contently. Josh who was back from killing someone and John who had just gotten finger fucked open by an entirely different killer, and said killer whose fingers were fidgeting lightly across his chest as he slept. They were quite a fucking trio, weren’t they? The worst part? Josh would probably be THRILLED to know it had happened, would give him a little grin and ask him how it felt and, Jesus, he didn’t want to deal with that and the answer to it being ‘fucking fantastic.’

Tommy shifted a bit and his voice was raspy from sleeping. “Do you feel better, brother?”

“I do, thank you,” Josh replied in a low tone. “Was he ok?”

“He did very well.”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” he couldn’t help but snap out grumpily.

He heard Josh’s soft laugh by his ear. “Thought you went back to sleep, sorry. You feeling ok?”

“Great. Just great.”

Tommy was at his other ear, placing a warm kiss there, and he shivered. “Are you upset from earlier?”

His eyes widened and he felt his cheeks tint a little, just a little, barely noticeable with only the soft glow of the nightlight, he assured himself. Josh made a curious noise and kissed his ear, and he really couldn’t think if both of them were going to be doing that; it was incredibly distracting.

“Something go wrong, sweetheart?”

“Very, very wrong,” he agreed.

“He sought comfort from me and received it. I’m sure he is mildly uncomfortable with his actions. There is no shame in what you did, though, John.”  He groaned at the surprised sound Josh made.

“Did you enjoy yourself, then?” He hated that he was right and he could hear the little grin in his tone.

“I don’t want to talk about it, and neither of you should talk about it, either,” he was quick to add.

“I’d rather sleep, anyway; maybe you can tell me about it in the morning.”

“Not likely.” He pushed at Josh’s face when he could still hear that grin and just got a kiss on the palm of his hand. “You suck.”

“Mhm, goodnight.”

He really did suck.

He woke again a few hours later to actual morning light streaming into the window.

That and a pair of pants being tossed lightly onto his head. He sat up quickly in surprise, and they slid down into his lap. Talia tilted her head at him as she stood leaning against the dresser.

And he’d forgotten to put pants on again after he’d slept with Tommy last night.

And he’d slept with Tommy last night.

She pursed her lips in amusement as his mouth dropped open. “It appears I do not have to wait much longer. Do you need help getting dressed?”

He quickly yanked the blanket up over his waist. “No, I’ve got it. It’s, you know, not what it looks like.”

“I am certain it is precisely what it looks like, actually. There is no time to argue, however. Bruce has the car running, and you need to dress.”

“Wait, what?”

“Your appointment, little brother.” She walked over to the bed and patted his cheek. “It’s this morning.”

“Oh.” He’d had no idea. “Wait. Are you taking me?” He hadn’t been expecting that.  He’d thought if anyone was going to take him it would be Tommy, with possibly Barsad with him. He’d planned for that, thought about how he could maybe slip out, get a message to the doctor if he was alone and fuck, he didn’t know, SOMETHING, ANYTHING. Now Bruce and Talia were the ones taking him, and he didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he did know he didn’t feel nearly as safe about trying to act out with them as he did with Tommy or Barsad. Also, he’d fucking slept with Tommy, and he really just couldn’t get over that anytime soon.

“We are. Tommy and Barsad have been so selfish with you, little brother. Bruce and I would like to spend some time with you, as well. We thought we’d make a day of it.”

He felt his stomach do a flip flop at the very idea. “Can’t Josh come?” he asked cautiously.

“Just us, John.”

He felt queasy as he fumbled with his pants, having trouble working them over the cast, but managed to work them on along with a nicer button down shirt that he was pretty sure wasn’t his, and one shoe. She offered her hand, and he glanced down at Josh who was still curled up sleeping.

“He sleeps soundly after a kill. It is the most restful night in his cycle,” she explained. He didn’t need to know that. He really didn’t. He didn’t want to wake him if that was true, though; he knew how it felt to sleep poorly. He still had nightmares now about falling, and woke from them on occasion, getting held by one or two pairs of arms until he slept.

Talia’s arm was surprisingly strong. He didn’t think she’d be able to hold him up like that on her own, but she was more than capable, apparently, and she helped him out to the car.

Holy shit, Bruce had a nice car. That car probably cost more than the house they were living in right now, and maybe, just maybe, he drooled a little with envy when he ran a hand down the sleek, black body of the car. He had just barely gotten his license this year. It had been hard getting one without his own car. He’d ended up having Josh teach him, and taking his truck to get it. Bruce had just smirked a little at his envious look and helped him into the passenger side where his leg could stretch out more.

“You’re welcome to take it for a ride when you’re out of your cast, John,” he remarked as he peeled out of the driveway. Was it possible to throw up from a mix of anxiety and excitement? Maybe if you combined it with Bruce’s driving. The man sped along the roads—vibrating John’s leg and making it ache slightly—like he owned them, which, well, maybe he did own more than a couple of them.

Speaking of, he’d kind of expected to be blindfolded or something, but when they did nothing of the sort. He kept an eye on the roads. He knew where he was now, sort of. Smaller roads converged into larger ones, and suddenly he was recognizing buildings and street signs. It was surreal, he was back near his home, and everything felt weird and different.

Bruce pulled into the hospital parking lot, had it really been such a short time since he’d left? It felt like a lifetime ago. When he parked, John felt Talia’s hands slide up over the seat and rub against his shoulders.

“John, dear little brother, let’s keep things clean and simple, shall we?” She leaned against his seat and spoke softly, firmly. “Neither Bruce nor I will be leaving your side during this for even and instant, and do not think us simple minded enough to not see if you try something.” Her fingers stroked up his neck and he shuddered. “Never underestimate exactly how much silence Bruce’s money can buy.”

He bit at the inside of his cheek sharply, tasting blood before he nodded tersely.

Bruce patted his leg and he jumped at the sudden touch. “Don’t let her scare you too much. We’re not going to hurt you, John.”

“Yeah. Me.” He got that. He wasn’t going to be the one to get hurt if something went wrong in there, but the person he told? They might be fair game if Bruce or Talia couldn’t smooth things over with them.

They helped him into the waiting room which was mostly empty, actually. He flipped through an old magazine and glanced around the room, thinking of every single person in it and how Bruce or Talia might murder them in cold blood if he shouted for help. He considered leaving an intricate message in the magazine’s crossword puzzle, but he had the feeling Bruce and Talia weren’t going to be giving him a pen anytime soon. If he’d had more time to prepare, then maybe he could have thought this out better, but they’d caught him by surprise; that had likely been the idea.

He was called in, and was surprised when it wasn’t the doctor he vaguely remembered talking with before.

“Bruce, it’s good to see you.” He held his hand out and they shook. First name basis, that wasn’t promising.

“Thank you for taking on John here, Thomas, I really appreciate it. I know how busy you are.”

Well, it was clear Bruce had switched his doctors on him. He didn’t know what that meant. Did that mean he was simply a more skilled doctor that Bruce used, or that this guy was being paid to keep his mouth shut?

Now he didn’t know what would happen if he said anything. He felt helpless as x-rays were taken, and didn’t speak much unless the doctor asked him a particular question. The examination passed like a blur, and he barely heard most of what Bruce discussed other than them talking about if he would be able to switch over to a lighter fiberglass cast anytime soon so he could get around better.

“We’ll see how it looks at his next appointment, but it looks like it’s healing better than most end up. You’re doing a good job keeping off of it. Bruce here probably has someone waiting on you hand and foot,” the doctor joked, and Bruce shared a laugh with him, fake, but the man didn’t seem to notice. Blake had a feeling most people didn’t notice when Bruce was being fake.

“If it stays looking good, next time we’ll probably be able to change the cast from plaster to fiberglass, something lighter. You’ll be on your feet in no time, then.”

He nodded a little, and when the doctor found out that John had ‘forgotten’ his crutches, he made sure John was given a pair from the other staff and Bruce thanked him more. It felt kind of good to be able to walk around on his own down the hall with them. It was more mobile than he’d been in a while. Talia went to get the car, and Bruce walked with him.

“John?”

He stopped and stared. There was Gordon standing there, leaning against the wall, clearly waiting for someone. For him?

Bruce intercepted smoothly and slid in front of him, holding out his hand. “Commissioner, it’s good to see you.”

They shook hands, too; Bruce shook hands with a lot of people, all in the line of duty, apparently.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. John, I was just coming to check in on you. You dropped off the grid for a little bit there, and a phone call might have been nice.”

“Oh, I uhm, I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, and willed Gordon to just see that something was really wrong here. See through Bruce Wayne.

“He wasn’t really thinking very clearly when I talked to him at first, commissioner,” Bruce spoke quietly, in a tone that clearly was excluding John out of the conversation even though he was right there. “Getting out of the hospital, some things sunk in for him and he wasn’t doing so well. Believe me, John and I go way back, and the only way I could convince him to come stay with me was if he really needed some time away from things.”

Oh. Really, well, that was nice. He didn’t know he was such good friends with Bruce Wayne.

Gordon nodded to Bruce, but turned his attention back to John, looking him in the eye firmly. “You’re not doing so great, son?”

“I—”

“He’s doing better than he was,” Bruce assured.

“I was asking John.” Damn. Gordon managed to not even sound rude at all, or like it was a big deal to shoot down Bruce Wayne, like he was just being polite and checking in on John. It was incredibly impressive.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” he blurted out, because he didn’t know what else to say. Please help me, I’m living in a dream world? Please help me, my boyfriend is a serial killer? Please help me, Bruce Wayne is a murderer and a liar and I’ve been kidnapped by a family of psychopaths?

Gordon nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. “That’s not unusual, given the circumstances. It’s why I stopped by. You should talk to someone about it. I was worried about you, so I put a call into a psychiatrist for you, someone who specializes in things like this. He said he’d see you next Thursday.”

Gordon stepped forward and slid a business card into his shirt pocket carefully. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Even if you’re not feeling up to helping out with the investigation, you need to get yourself checked out, talk to someone.” Gordon gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked off without another word, leaving Bruce to stare in surprise at his back.

“He’s a good man,” Bruce said thoughtfully, with a slight tilt of his head, as though he was in thought. John hoped that meant he was safe.


	25. Chapter 25

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly as they continued walking.

“About what?”

“The appointment; he’ll check in to see if I went, won’t he?”

“Well, of course, but I don’t see why that should matter since you’re going.” Bruce opened the car door for him when Talia pulled up.

“What?” He gaped when Bruce helped his leg into the car.

“What is going on?” Talia asked curiously, and smacked away Bruce’s hand when he tried to pull her from behind the wheel. “I am driving. You rattled his leg before.”

“It’s my car,” Bruce protested, but slid into the backseat. “And John’s going to see a psychiatrist.”

Talia scoffed as she drove off. “Ridiculous, they never help.”

“Not with our problems, that’s for sure,” Bruce agreed quickly, “but they could help John, maybe; give him someone to talk to.”

“Do you really think that is wise?”

“I think it’s a good idea if it will help.”

“You know I’m supposed to be alone with this guy, right? I could blab everything to him.” He wasn’t sure exactly why he was pointing that out.

“You could, but you won’t.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know that.”

“You won’t because Talia will investigate this man and bug his office and listen in on your session.”

“You— that’s completely uneth—…fuck you.” Bruce laughed and John sunk down into his seat more. “I don’t want to talk to a fucking shrink, especially not with someone else listening.”

“It’s only to make sure you’re not telling him about us, John. You really do need to talk to someone about the accident.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re good, you’re getting better pretty quickly, actually, but you had a traumatic experience and you’re not just going to be ok in a few weeks.”

“Bruce would know, wouldn’t he?” Talia spoke up calmly.

“Fine.” It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d ever been made to talk to a shrink. More than one foster family had sat him down with one to talk about his ‘anger problems,’ and that hadn’t exactly helped. Of course, it always seemed to only be the one session because foster parents didn’t like to hear from therapists that they needed to change some of their own behaviors, too, not just John. “Where are we going?” he finally asked when he realized they weren’t heading towards the house.

“We’re spending the day together, remember?” Talia looked over at him and gave him a mysterious smile.

“Please don’t kill me.”

He didn’t like that they both laughed at that.

“That… that is a boat.” Maybe boat was the wrong word; was Yacht better? What made a boat a yacht and not a boat, was it sheer size? Fuck if he knew, he’d never even been in a canoe, and here he was eyeing the large vessel warily.

“It’s a cruiser yacht, actually,” Bruce corrected as he wrapped some plastic sheeting over his cast, just as adept at it as Tommy, and, well, he’d know, John supposed.

“You want me to get on that? No offense, but how about you just toss me off into the water while you’re at it?”

“I thought you might like it.”

“What if I get seasick? What if I fall off?”

Talia laughed lightly. They both held onto his arms to guide him onto the boat, his crutches following. “You will not fall off, and if you did, Bruce is a good swimmer, he would rescue you. Do you get seasick?”

“How would I know, when would I have ever been in a boat?” He felt the ground beneath his good foot rolling slightly, and he sat down carefully on a bench. It felt… weird. He’d kind of always been curious what being on a boat felt like.

“Hmm, carsick then?” she asked. He shook his head and looked around curiously. Ok, it was kind of really cool to be on a boat. Bruce seemed to know what he was doing, and cast them off or whatever it was called.

Bruce drove his big fancy boat just as fast as he drove his big fancy car. John gasped when it lurched forward suddenly then sped out into the bay. Talia laughed and put her hands against her face to keep the light spray out of her eyes. The wind rushed through his hair and he held onto the bench, peering over the edge of the boat.

Maybe he smiled, just a little.

Talia wrapped an arm around him. “To make sure you don’t fall off,” she teased, and he couldn’t resist using the extra balance to reach back and touch his hand into the spray the boat was kicking up, soaking his arm.

Bruce glanced back at them. “Do you want to drive?”

His jaw might have dropped a little. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t know how to drive a boat.”

“Nah, it’s not hard, come on.”

What the hell, when was he ever going to get a chance like this again? He let Bruce show him how to steer and ok, ok, this was fun as hell. He let out a low whoop when they kicked into a higher speed and raced along the water way. Talia laughed when Bruce fell back onto the seat beside her and placed a hand on her thigh. “See? He’s a natural, and if he crashes, I have an excuse to buy another one and get my name in the papers.”

“Why would you want your name in the papers for that?” John looked back briefly, but realized maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

Bruce put his hands up in front of him. “Billionaire Playboy Crashes Yacht.  It’ll be perfect. It’s exactly the kind of thing my image needs. I can’t have people thinking I’m too smart, can I? Every once in a while I do something reckless to make sure my name keeps popping up and no one starts thinking I’m too terribly clever.”

“That’s… brilliant.”

Talia laughed. “I remember the year he accidently shot someone in the foot with an arrow during a hunting incident.”

“I think that was a couple of months after I ‘got drunk’ and crashed the annual police ball.”

“Oh yeah! They talk about that at the academy,” he suddenly remembered. “Half of them love you for that.”

“That’s the idea. You have to put a persona out there to the world. You know about that, John. I can see it when you smile. I know you can tell when mine is fake or real; do you think we can’t tell the same for you?”

“Oh.” He looked down at the steering wheel. He honestly hadn’t given it much thought.

“It’s real sometimes,” Talia countered. “And when it is, it’s lovely, when you’re smiling at Barsad mostly, sometimes Tommy.”  She said the last part teasingly. “You like both of my brothers.”

“Just Josh,” he argued, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Talia just chuckled and ran her hand through Bruce’s hair, loosening it from its slicked-back look until it fell around his face more, was swept around in the wind. “I hate when you gel it.”

“It doesn’t look nearly as charming when it’s loose.” Bruce smiled and reached to tug on one of her curls. “I have to look my best for the public, of course.”

She shook her head. “Only we are watching here. That goes for both of you. Relax, John; be yourself, you can be yourself with us. We know you are angry, we accept that you wish to go. We simply will not allow that to happen. So feel angry when you are angry, and enjoy yourself when you can.”

He grit his teeth at that and stared into the water ahead. Talia walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing into them. “There is nothing wrong with being angry, John. We won’t judge you for it.”

He surprised himself when he let go and shoved at her so she toppled back and Bruce caught her up. “STOP. Just fucking stop!” he shouted, and felt a hot flash of anger rising to his head.

She didn’t startle, and she didn’t attack him like he half expected after he took a breath to calm himself. She merely smiled and walked forward again to pat his cheek. “Much better. It feels better to let things go.”

“You’re fucking crazy. No one wants someone angry at them. NO one.”

Bruce came up and brought the boat to a stop. “Maybe not, John, but we don’t want you keeping it inside. It has to come out somehow, doesn’t it? Consider this a safe place. No one around to hear you, Barsad isn’t here to worry about upsetting, and we’re hardly going to break if you yell or push us around.”

He shook his head. “I’m fucking fine. I’m fucking ok.”

“No, you’re not, John. You’re angry because I made you feel helpless today at that hospital. I took away your ability to react to the situation, I left you with no choice but to listen and rely on me.”

“I wasn’t fucking HELPLESS!” he spat out. Fuck him. “I’ll find a way. I’ll find a fucking way!”

“And then what, John, darling? Our brother won’t leave with you.” Talia was close again, leaning too close into his space. “He loves us too much; he is brother’s little lamb.”

Something inside him snapped at that and he growled, practically snarled, and shoved at her again, swung at Bruce. His hand got caught up by Talia, and they held him down while he shouted and cursed. “FUCK YOU BOTH!”

“Very good, John.” Bruce’s voice was calm even when he tried to shove at him harder and tried to bite his arm.

“We have you, brother,”  Talia whispered against his ear.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He swore and felt his anger bubbling up all around him. He didn’t ever rage like this anymore in front of anyone but Josh, because Josh understood, of course Josh understood; he suddenly realized why, now. Josh understood because he has things bubbling up inside of him, too.

He balled his fists in fury and slammed them into the cushions, letting out a yell. They kept holding him even when he tried to swing at them to shove and hit them. God, he was just so fucking ANGRY. NOTHING was fair. Nothing was ever fucking fair! They didn’t back off; when he managed to push one away, the other held him still, until he was red in the face and breathing heavily, feeling exhausted.

Talia kissed his temple when he finally let out a soft whimper of defeat and dropped his head down. “Feel better?”

He really did.

It took a few shuddering breaths before he felt like he could speak, and he leaned against both of them as they waited patiently. “My head fucking hurts.”

Talia rubbed his scalp, and it helped. They waited a bit for him to calm down more, until he felt like he could really breathe ok. He looked at them and he was just fucking confused.

“Why would you do that?” They’d provoked him on purpose, made him lash out at them. He didn’t get that.

“It’s not healthy to keep those things inside.” Talia sat down beside him and her fingers were still at his scalp, rubbing firmly, guiding his head to rest against her. “And we are strong enough to take whatever you may dish out at us, little brother. Have you done this with Barsad before?”

He nodded a little. Her fingers were rubbing away the ache in his head. “Sometimes. I tried not to, I just couldn’t hold back sometimes. Sometimes I just get so angry,” he confessed, and it felt ok to; these were killers, were they really going to judge him over some rage issues?

“That’s something I can definitely understand, John.” Bruce rubbed his shoulder. “When my rage tips me over, I bash someone to a pulp. Yours gives you a temper tantrum, so don’t think we’re going to mind for a second if you just have to let it go.”

“We’ll bring you out here with us. It can be our special time, John. We’ll go sailing and you’ll get to let off steam, and then we’ll go fishing.” Bruce patted his back, like it was no big deal. Like this could be normal.

“I don’t know how to fish.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone knows how to fish. You put a hook and food in the water and wait. Let’s try it.”

Apparently there was more to it than that, either that or John had scared them all away because they certainly weren’t biting when Bruce put a fishing pole in his hand and showed him how to cast a line out. It didn’t matter, though; it was quiet, and John felt peaceful after being able to get all of those emotions out of him. Talia caught something. Bruce declared her to be cheating and demanded John take his side. He stared uncertainly before shaking his head.

“I don’t think you can really cheat at fishing.”

“Ah, I knew he liked me better,” Talia declared, pulling her line in and carefully unhooking the large fish, tossing it into a pail.

Bruce made a slight face. “Traitor. I was going to buy you a car, too.”

“Hush, I will buy him one, instead.” She cleaned her hands and tossed the line out again.

“With my money, I’m sure.”

“Of course; why would I use my own when I could use yours, instead?”

John laughed before he could help it, and Talia gave him a mischievous look.  “If you ever want something, just ask Bruce. He likes excuses to spend his money, and Tommy and Barsad don’t give him enough.”

“They like the simple life,” Bruce agreed. “They won’t even let me put in a pool for them.”

John might have rolled his eyes a little at that. “Who needs a pool, really?”

“Oh no, he’s going to be just like them, I just know it.” Bruce shook his head.

“Nah, you can buy me the car,” he said flippantly, because Bruce wasn’t really going to buy him a car. You don’t exactly buy a kidnapping victim a means to escape. “I like blue.”

“Blue it is,” Bruce agreed.

They fished for a while longer, and he finally got his fish. Apparently he cheated, too, or at least so Bruce told him before they packed it up which was good because he was starving. They’d offered to stop for breakfast earlier, before the appointment, but his stomach had been in knots. By now, it was well past lunch. When they were back in the car, Talia surprised him by pulling into a café where they ended up having lunch, or maybe it was an early dinner. It was weird, to be surrounded by so many people who had no idea, tucked into a booth across from Bruce, drinking overpriced coffee and devouring sandwiches and pastries.

There was a flash of photography and he whirled his head around as he shoved a bite of cherry pastry into his mouth. Talia and Bruce didn’t even turn.

“Paparazzi,” Talia explained as she sipped her drink. “Pay them no mind.”

“Or, make a scene if you’d like.” Bruce didn’t change his expression but his eyes twinkled with mischief as he spoke. “You didn’t crash the boat, so this is pretty open game, here.”

“Keep talking, I’ll pie you in the face.” He shifted a plate containing a piece of coconut cream pie he’d snagged.

“Hmm, Billionaire Bruce Wayne Pied in the Face by Angry Young Lover.” He tilted his head. “Not as extreme as my usual, but I like it.”

John nearly spat out his coffee. “EXCUSE you?” he whispered harshly. “Angry young lover?”

“I don’t make the headlines. I just predict them.”

“Why not Talia? She’s sitting right beside you, even!” he gestured, he even had his hand on her leg under the table for God’s sake.

“Miranda Tate? Well, everyone knows a strong business woman like that is a lesbian, John.”

“Who?” he was just getting more confused at this point.

Talia laughed lightly and seemed to take pity on him, patting her fingertips over his hand. “My professional identification in Gotham. Talia does not exist in any paper records, and I intend to keep it that way. The papers have seen me with Bruce before, and have decided I am simply too intelligent to be sleeping with him.”

“It’s probably a wise decision,” John agreed.

“Mm,” she made a sound of disagreement. “He is very skilled with his tongue.”

Another thing he really didn’t need to know, honestly. He cleared his throat and focused on his coffee.


	26. Chapter 26

Bane worked. His last kill had been shortened out of necessity, and so this one he had taken his time with, knowing he would have several hours at least to draw it out. What was left at this point was not what one might consider human or living, but it was purged none the less. He sunk his fingers into the cracked open skull, pushing into the exposed brain matter and splaying his fingers out, scrambling the tissue around inside and finally ending the thing’s existence. Bane was pleased with the work completed. He slipped off the mask and allowed Tommy to take his place.

“Would you like help cleaning, Tommy?” Barsad asked softly from the corner once the mask had been tucked away.

It was not unusual for him to come downstairs and watch with the knowledge that he would not speak during it and so draw Bane’s attention. Bane knew Barsad as family, but he was also quick to punish, even when a cleansing was not truly needed, if he was taken away from his current kill. Barsad did not like to be alone for so long, though, so he kept quiet and waited each time for Bane to finish and Tommy to come back. Watching Bane work did not excite him or cause a desire in him, his darkness did not work in such a way, he simply watched in a detached manner as one might watch a documentary show.

“Thank you,” Tommy nodded in appreciation, and together they cleaned up the mess until the basement shone even in the dim light.

“Do you think the appointment went well?” Barsad asked, clearly concerned.

“I am certain we would have been informed otherwise if it did not. They are more than capable of handling things.”

Barsad nodded, his face clearing as they walked back up from the basement. It had been decided that John’s doctor appointment would be the opportune time for Bane to purge a victim. It would not always work out that way but it was nice that, with him settling in more, he did not have to deal with the screams this time. Tommy built a fire in the small hearth of the living room, carefully feeding into it clothing and the possessions left behind in his victim’s pockets. As he tossed in a leather wallet and watched the flames lick at the material, they could both hear the sounds of their brother’s car pulling into the driveway.

Barsad quickly checked his hands over for blood or grime. They were not trying to hide what they had done from John, if he asked he would be told, but he did not want to upset him by touching him with dirty hands. He pulled John in for a kiss the moment he entered the house, getting a surprised sound out of him and then an arm around his shoulder to balance him as he returned it. He stroked his cheek, smiling when he tasted coconut and coffee on John’s lips, which meant things had gone well enough that they’d gone out for lunch like his sister had hoped.

“Look at you, getting around on your own,” he realized when he saw the crutches tucked under John’s arms.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” John admitted, “and my arm pits will never be the same, but I can get around.”

“I will miss carrying you to bed.”

“You can still carry me to bed, but not to the fucking bathroom,” John said, sounding relieved with that being over.

“You know I didn’t mind.” He stepped back and let him walk into the house on his own.

“You didn’t, I did.” He walked slowly with his crutches, but was able to get into the living room, hesitating at the entry when Barsad was sure he’d spotted Tommy there but walking in. Barsad stepped out and walked over to the car where Bruce and Talia were waiting.

“You’re not coming in?” He was surprised, they had been spending a lot of time away together, not unusual, but he was surprised they were not more interested in more bonding time with John.

“We will have dinner tomorrow,” Talia assured him. “He did very well today. We got him out onto the boat, he seemed to like it.”

Barsad smiled and leaned in to hug her. “Thank you for spending time with him.”

“Of course; we enjoyed it.” She pulled back and he was pulled in by Bruce for a quick embrace.

“He doesn’t want a pool, either.”

“We do not need a pool, Bruce.” He chuckled lightly, though, used to them joking about it.

“I was thinking you could come to my house for dinner tomorrow. It’d be good if he got out more.”

“I’m sure Tommy would approve. Talk to him.” He smiled at the thought and bid them both a farewell before heading back into the house. John had worked himself down onto the couch and was watching Tommy warily as he stood from his crouch at the fireplace and sat down beside him.

“Did you enjoy your outing?” His fingers went into John’s hair and John jumped a little before he relaxed, nodding.

“They didn’t kill me and bury me in the foundation of Wayne Manor, so, it went better than I thought. Thanks for the heads up by the way, JOSH.” He gave him a look.

“They thought it would be better if it was a surprise,” Barsad admitted. “So you would not overthink things.”

John gave him a sour look and crossed his arms. Barsad sat down at the other side of him and ran a hand down his arm. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t want you doing something you might regret later.”

That didn’t get him a look that was any happier. It made Barsad a little sad to know that John still wasn’t accepting himself here, even if he was getting closer to everyone. He knew John didn’t want to leave him, he didn’t, and he just hoped that would extend to all of them soon, especially with him getting closer to Tommy now.

“Do not be cross with Barsad, it was my idea.”

“Of course it was,” John sighed. “Do I get to know next time? Are they taking me next time?”

“I think they plan on taking you to your next appointment, yes. They would like to spend time with you, as well. They are your family, too.”

John didn’t deny it verbally, but it was clear by his eyes that he wasn’t in complete agreement though the vehemence of before had worn away. Barsad chose to take that as a promising sign.

“Do you really want to sit on the couch? I know it makes you sore,” he asked. John’s day had to have been trying on his leg, especially if they had gone boating.

“I’m ok; I don’t feel like lying down yet.”

“I could think of several things to keep you occupied if you chose to lie down,” he said not so innocently.

“…Yeah?” John glanced at him with interest then pretended to play dumb, which made Barsad grin and lean in closer.

“I might have spent some time Googling positions that would be ok for you with your cast on.” He grinned when John laughed.

“I’d love to see your browser history for that one.”

Barsad laughed with him, helping him back to the bedroom, sneaking a wink at his brother who only seemed amused as they left.

_______________

John let himself fall down onto the bed as much as he dared with his leg. His head dropped back onto the blankets. Josh made an appreciative noise, running his hands up his chest, quickly stripping off his shirt. He pinned his hands to either side of him and leaned over him, letting his tongue drag out over his nipple, making John gasp and arch up as he mouthed over one then the other.

“A-ah… so I’d really like you inside of me. Tell me I don’t have to get into some acrobatic position for that.” He moaned when Josh’s teeth closed around his nipple and tugged it playfully. “F-fuck!”

“Nah, you just have to lie back and let me do all of the work, so the usual.”

“You jerk!” he laughed, knowing that so WASN’T true, and even if it was Josh liked when he got John to lie back and relax for it.

Josh grinned cheekily up at him and helped him onto the bed more. “Seriously though, sweetheart, you’re going to lie on your side, ok? With your cast down, and you let me take care of the rest.” He leaned down and crooned softly in his ear, “Let me take good care of you.” He nodded and shivered when Josh helped him roll onto his side and curl a little, trailing a hand down his back.

“I’ve missed being inside of you so much, John.”  Josh thoughtfully tucked a pillow under his head.

“I missed you, too. God, so much.” Tommy’s fingers had been amazing in a ‘never doing that again’ type way, but God, it had been so long since he’d been with Josh. He felt rather lazy as Josh kneeled behind him and leaned over him to kiss down his neck.

“Can I see you touch yourself, sweetheart? I’d like that.” He nuzzled over his ear, flicking his tongue over the shell of it. “I love watching you.”

John didn’t redden. He totally didn’t. It wasn’t like he didn’t jerk off or touch himself in front of Josh all the time, it was just, when he TALKED about it, asked for it like it was a special treat for him to see, told him how much he liked it, let him know how closely he was watching, well, maybe his cheeks tinted just a little. He nodded, though, happy to have something to do, and wiggled to get out of his sweats. Josh helped pull them down over the cast and tossed them into the corner of the room.

“Tommy will scold you.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little. Tommy was a neat freak.

Josh laughed a little, as well. “You really want to be thinking about Tommy right now?” His fingers crept over the curve of his ass, sliding a feather light finger between his cheeks. John squirmed a little more at the ticklish sensation and wrapped a hand around himself.

“N-no, definitely not,” he agreed.

“Not that I’d mind, mind you,” Josh teased, and John yelped when cold lubricant was suddenly dripped out onto his length. “It’s not like he won’t hear you. You’re too noisy for him not to.”

“Warn me next time!” He stopped at that then groaned. “I can be quiet.”

“Want me to push your face into the pillow if you get to loud?” Josh asked playfully.

“NO.” He scoffed. He could totally just keep quiet. Totally.

It worked pretty well, for about a minute. Josh kissed along his shoulder and neck while he wiggled his lube-slicked fingers between his cheeks, stroking across his rim.

“Nnn…” No, wait. Not too loud. God, that wasn’t fair. His gave his cock a slow stroke, smearing around the lube Josh had given him. Josh kept stroking, dipping in just barely, making him clench and shiver.

“J-Josh, Ah…”

“I love how sensitive you are there, sweetheart,” Josh spoke breathily against his neck. “And you look so good touching yourself like that for me. I could just play with you there all day, pet you there until you melted into the bed for me. I bet I could make you so loud.”

Oh, not fair at all. His hips jerked a little despite the cast, and his breathing quickened.

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” Josh’s beard scraped against his neck, leaving a tickling burn that he kissed and breathed hotly over.

John nodded his head with a quick jerk because he wasn’t a fucking liar. “Y-yeah, just not now, not now, ok?”

Josh’s teeth bit lightly into his heated skin and he cried out softly. “Not now,” he agreed. The cry tapered off into a low moan when his fingers finally pressed into him. “I want you right now.”

Why the fuck was he supposed to be quiet again? What a dumb idea. He rocked back greedily at Josh’s fingers, sighing out in pleasure when he stretched them carefully inside of him. “Come on, come on, that’s all I need,” he promised; he didn’t want to wait. Josh always took SO long when he prepped him, and he just needed him now.

Josh pressed in a little deeper, making John’s toes want to curl and his hand quicken on his cock. He was so hard already. “J-Josh, come on!” He wanted to feel him fucking him before he went off.

Josh’s fingers pulled out of him slowly, still spread apart, so their sudden leaving made him feel all the emptier. He made himself slow his hand, though, when he could hear Josh’s buckle, the soft rustle of his jeans being slid down then off. Then there was the rip of a foil packet; clearly Josh had been hoping for this if he’d been prepared like that, then he was lying down behind him, spooning against him, and John could definitely get behind this plan with all of Josh’s warm skin pressed against him, his cock nudging against his ass. Josh’s head joined his on the pillow and kissed the nape of his neck as he guided John’s good leg forward so he spread a bit for him.

He slid into him with an unhurried push of his hips, and John whimpered at the slow drag of it. Josh’s lips latched onto his neck, sucking at the already abused skin. It hurt just a little, he was burning up everywhere; the burn on his neck, his cock, his ass, all of them felt connected, and a touch to one of them made them all spark with pleasure. Josh’s arm hooked under his knee and he gasped when he drew his good leg up slowly higher, spreading him wider until the muscle in his thigh felt strained; just another burning sensation.

Josh bit at his skin before letting go of the mark he’d made with a wet kiss. “That ok? That too much?”

No, it wasn’t, it was just fucking right and he might have whined those words out to Josh exactly like that, feeling a smile against his neck before it was attacked again and he was thrust into with long deep strokes that were also just fucking right, that would have rocked his body against the mattress if Josh hadn’t been holding his leg still. So, so good; his hand on his cock became clumsy in his eagerness. Josh made him feel like a damn teenager again sometimes, too worked up to know how to handle his own body.

“John, I missed you so much,” he could just barely hear the words as Josh whispered them against his neck. He was flushed and could feel the sweat on Josh’s brow when he nuzzled into him. His thrusts were faster now, and John could hear himself getting louder each time the head of Josh’s cock grazed against his prostate, soft moans and louder cries leaving his lips.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Josh’s words were so husky and thick; he was close, maybe closer than John, even. “You sound so good, so good for me. You’re so noisy. You think he can’t hear you?”

He shook his head. “G-God, Josh don’t!” He didn’t want to think about how Tommy could hear them. He didn’t, he didn’t, no matter how much his cock twitched in his hand or how he clenched more tightly around Josh. He was just close, so close was all, pleasure and need were coiling in his spine, heat was pooling in his belly.

“I bet you were noisy for him, too, John. Did you cry out for my brother as sweetly as you do for me?”

His breath caught and, to his absolute mortification, he was coming, spilling out into his hand with a twist of his hips and a hoarse shout. Josh was almost with him, his thrusts going from smooth to more erratic, his grip on his leg becoming tighter as he thrust into him before there was a heavy moan vibrating against his neck and Josh’s thrusts stilled.

He couldn’t quite catch his breath as Josh carefully pulled out and lowered his leg, disposing of the condom and rubbing the muscles on John’s thigh. “Do you feel ok?”

He nodded a little, his brain feeling a bit sluggish so soon after. “Mhm, I’m good.” He smacked at him suddenly. “Don’t fucking talk about your brother when we have sex, jerk. That is so BEYOND fucked up.”


	27. Chapter 27

Josh snorted in amusement and rubbed his side, cleaning up the blankets with a towel. “It certainly did not slow anything down for you.” He was about to retort when his fingers stroked through his sweat dampened hair. “You have been intimate, haven’t you? I would love to see that, John; would you let me watch you next time?”

He shivered. “No next time.”

“Why not? Did he not feel good?”

“Because, he, you, I—ugh. Josh, that’s not fucking normal.” How could they not see that that just wasn’t ok?

“It is for us, John. For us, you are the abnormal one,” he teased lightly, lying back down beside him. “And all of your family wishes you could see that, so they could lie with you.”

A tremor ran up his spine at the idea; what a terrible, terrible idea.

“Look, I… I don’t care what you do, ok?” That was hard to admit, but he’d been thinking about it long and hard after the incident with Tommy, and it felt cruel to keep Josh from Tommy when it was clear they’d had something going on for so long even if it was fucked up as all hell. “Just… just leave me out of it.”

Josh paused at that and helped him roll onto his back, looking over him seriously. “You are giving me permission to be intimate with them again?”

“I—Y-yeah.”

A smile spread over Josh’s face and he kissed him passionately in gratitude, rubbing his scratchy cheek against John’s smooth one affectionately. “Thank you. This means a great deal to me.”

“I-I know.” He did. He shouldn’t be agreeing to this. If Tommy started sleeping with Josh again, what if they got even more attached? But Josh, God, he was so fucking attached to Tommy already, and sometimes that really ripped at John’s heart, and other times it just really confused him because he sort of felt attached to him, too, not to mention he was starting to not entirely hate Talia and Bruce, which was just all kinds of fucked-up, extremely dangerous, bullshit. He just didn’t understand anything, anymore.

Josh pressed in for another kiss. “Are you certain?”

He nodded firmly. Honestly, what better time to try and escape than when Tommy and Josh were fucking? He could slip off during it if Bruce and Talia weren’t around, and he had crutches, now. He was as mobile as he was going to get. “I’m sure.”

He still didn’t know what he was going to do about Josh, but he did know that he needed to get out of there; it was getting dangerous the longer he stayed. It hurt, but maybe he needed to be able to let Josh go. He felt an ache in his chest at the very idea. Maybe he could testify; Josh had problems, he needed help, maybe he’d get the help he needed in an institution. He could visit him. He took a deep breath when Josh moved off of him with another kiss. He was glad when he left the room so he could wipe his eyes quickly.

He’d thought Josh was going off to tell Tommy the news. He didn’t expect them to come back together, bumping into the doorframe as they attacked each other’s mouths with kisses that bordered on ravenous in nature.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing?” he yelped when Tommy dropped back onto the bed, dragging Josh with him so that he was straddling his lap. His hands were on Josh’s ass already, manhandling him until he was pulled up flush to his chest. Josh bit back a soft cry when Tommy’s hand smacked down firmly onto the paler skin there.

“Ah… I said it would be in front of you, so you can stop it if you wish, remember?” His head dropped back and his eyes closed when Tommy’s lips went to his throat. “T-Tommy...” His fingers were digging into the thick muscle of Tommy’s arms.

His mouth popped open a bit and he stared longer than he cared to admit; much longer.

“I don’t, you don’t h-have—” he started to stammer when he realized they were not actually going to stop unless he said something.

Tommy looked over Josh’s shoulder, and the heated look he gave him froze his lips.

“You are not to leave the bed, John.” His hand crept between their bodies and Josh arched suddenly, moaning. John could see a glimpse of Tommy’s hand wrapping around his cock, already rapidly swelling again for his brother’s warm grip. “Not without someone to watch you.” His eyes were clouded with desire, but John could still see he wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security.

“I-I won’t leave,” he lied. “I can’t just watch you.”

“Did you wish to join?”

“No!”

“We could stop,” Josh sounded reluctant as he spoke the words out, leaning his head against Tommy’s shoulder. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.” He sounded all soft and breathy, like he had just been with John when he rocked inside of him, how he got when he was really turned on, and John couldn’t help but feel his cock twitch at his tone even when it wasn’t for him. He felt his body heating up again and, God, that was embarrassing, but Josh always sounded good, and it would be cruel for him to have told him he could have this and then take it away just because Tommy, rightfully but whatever, didn’t trust him.

“No, just, just no… it’s fine, Josh,” he forced out. “Just, just have fun, ok? I’m just going to count the ceiling tiles or something.” He looked away, then startled when Josh was suddenly no longer in Tommy’s lap but leaning over him, resting his forehead against his, staring into his eyes.

_______________

Barsad smiled as John’s eyes grew wider. He could feel how his breath left him faster when he placed a hand on his chest, the quick rise and fall there. “John?”

“W-what?” The tone was so soft and uncertain. He might be the dark lamb of his family, but sometimes John seemed as though he was a lost one.

“I would like it very much if you watched, sweetheart.”

John’s lip quivered and Josh could tell he wanted to, that he was curious, tentative but excited by the thought, but he didn’t think it was ok to when it was. Josh understood that. He hadn’t thought it was ok either, once, and he wanted John to understand that it was, that he could have this, have them.

“It’s ok, it really is, sweetheart. You know I love watching you when you feel good. Now Tommy is going to make me feel good, and I think you’d like to watch that, too, wouldn’t you?” He ran his tongue slowly over John’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and nibbling at it before he let it pop back out wetly. “It’s ok to want to watch, John. I want you to.”

John’s breathing came out in quick little pants at that and he couldn’t resist rubbing over his chest. He loved how he felt under his hands, still damp with sweat from their joining. Barsad wanted him again, but he also wanted his brother. It had been so very long since they had coupled, but he needed it to be ok with John. He couldn’t relax and let himself be swept away by his brother’s touch if John was upset. Perhaps it was cruel to pull at John’s strings, to work him up with a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty, but sometimes even Barsad resorted to a bit of mischief when he knew it would cause no harm.

He skimmed his fingers down over John’s belly, feeling it dip and his skin heat up into its lovely pink flush. John pushed up against his palm, and he smiled at the soft noise of want that left his lips. “You’ll watch, won’t you?”

“G-God, Josh.” He couldn’t say yes, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say it even if Barsad knew he wanted to, but he could nod, and after a long pause his head dipped down in agreement. Barsad wanted to kiss him silly for it, but he also knew if he started kissing John again he might not be able to stop himself, and Tommy was waiting patiently. He settled for whispering his gratitude against John’s lips and placing a final peck to his cheek before he let him go.

When it was clear it was ok to continue, Tommy moved behind him and wrapped a strong arm around his waist, pulling him up to settle on his knees. His blunt fingernails scratched a red trail down his chest while he kissed down his spine, biting on occasion, making Barsad jump and squirm as his body thrummed with the pleasure of each touch. His brother knew his body well, even with over a year of absence from it. He felt himself turned around, and Tommy’s hand went to his shoulder, pushing him to lie beside John, sweet John to whom a quick glance showed he was indeed watching, staring even, his cheeks so beautifully flushed. He couldn’t resist tilting his head to the side to kiss him, moaning against his lips when his brother’s hand found his cock again. It was dry and it caught against his skin sharply enough in to make him whimper softly; it hurt wonderfully.

_______________

Tommy watched as Barsad bucked up eagerly into his hand, his thighs snapping apart to entice him with the heat he would find there. It had been so long since he had explored his brother’s body, though, and he wished to know it again, slowly. He enjoyed the sound of their kisses, the soft slick noise of lips and tongue as Barsad moaned out for him. John was watching even as they kissed, uncertain perhaps, but unable to bring himself to look away, his body’s responses to the sight honest enough even if he could not admit his own desire.

He touched over his brother’s skin, rubbing up his smooth thighs, the muscle there lean and toned. Barsad was strong, so strong for him, but he had never been able to put on muscle as Tommy had, even though they exercised often together. He could not deny that his brother’s smaller frame had its own appeal, and that perhaps he enjoyed this fact; he and John matched well laid out together, and he was sure Talia and Bruce would agree were they there to see it. One day he was sure they would be, and they would enjoy those slender bodies pressed tightly together, pleasured from all sides as they kissed sweetly for them.

As it was now, John watched his hands closely as they roamed up Barsad’s chest and he moved over his brother,  cupped his chin, guiding his lips from John and capturing them with his own. John’s eyes were perhaps envious, but the lust in them could not be ignored. Still, it would not do to focus on John when his brother was finally with him again. He sighed in enjoyment as Barsad’s hands rubbed over him in return, his sweetness and dedication felt in every touch to his shoulders, his chest, strong fingers dipping into the curves of his muscles, pressing in tight, scratching, rubbing; arousal pooled in his belly at the attention.  
  
“Tommy, please, I need you.” The words were barely a whisper between their kisses, so simple, so honest. He could scarcely refuse them or the clever fingers that worked open the button and zipper of his pants, pushing them down to his thighs then curling around his cock. He had wished to draw this out, but those hands stirred memories in him of all they had shared between their bodies, and he felt himself twitch in anticipation as he was stroked.

He savored the touch a moment longer before he drew back from his reach, wishing to waste no further time that could be spent inside of Barsad. He sought out the bottle of lubricant half buried in bunched-up blankets, and spread Barsad’s cheeks with his fingers, letting the slippery substance pour out over his hole, chuckling at the gasp of shock that his brother released over the cold.

“I will warm it,” he promised, rubbing his thumb over the trail of it, rubbing it up against Barsad’s entrance, pushing it into the tight warmth. Barsad wrapped his arms around his neck, his hips rolling with the desire to be filled even as his body tightened in instinct over the intrusion. He opened him, trying to keep his patience and wits as his brother twisted and squirmed in desire under him, always so sweet in his need, his cock swollen to the point of dripping though he had heard him reach his completion with John such a short time ago.

He slicked his own cock with a few brief strokes of his hand before his took hold of his brother, hauling his hips off of the bed and feeling his lean legs wrap around the small of his back. He held him steady, feeling a rumble leave his own throat as he thrust his cock smoothly between the curves of his ass, rubbing firmly against his eager hole.

“Whoa, whoa, WAIT.”

_______________

He sat up suddenly in disbelief. God, everything they were doing, the sounds Josh was making when Tommy touched him, how Tommy looked… but then what the hell.

“You’re not going to use a fucking condom?” Because really? REALLY? When he’d been trying to get Josh to bareback him for months? That was completely not cool.

Tommy flicked his eyes towards him, amused, if not slightly irritated at the sudden interruption. “We do not.”

“Josh!” Maybe his priorities were a little skewed at the moment, but he could call unfair when he saw it.

Josh was squirming, or as much as he could while he was clinging to Tommy, his arms looped around his neck, his legs curled around his waist as Tommy leaned over him, his muscles straining as he helped hold Josh’s hips up at the angle he wanted. “J-John, could we perhaps… I could explain later.” His voice sounded strained, and John wanted a fucking explanation right now, but he kind of realized that that would be beyond cruel at this point. If Josh had tried to get him to form rational sentences while he was in that kind of position, he’d be a fucking goner.

“Fine. Just. Fine.” He crossed his arms, feeling annoyance playing a bit of a tug of war with the arousal that was frankly so fucking thick around him it was getting hard to keep his breathing steady. God, he was hard again and he didn’t want to be, he really didn’t, but Josh was so fucking sexy and suddenly he was crying out, his head tilting back against the bed as Tommy pushed into him, slowly, slower than John ever managed, but Tommy was big, he probably had needed to learn to be patient out of necessity.

He watched and shivered at how Josh’s body tightened with each inch Tommy filled him with, how his eyes were clenched shut and his fingers were digging into the back of his neck. It had to hurt, maybe more than a little, even, but the noises Josh was making didn’t sound hurt at all.

Then Tommy started moving, thrusting into Josh, fast, faster than John thought maybe he should when he was so big, and Josh had to be feeling so stretched-open, letting out breathy little cries, gasps stuttering out of him each time Tommy’s hips smacked against his ass.

Josh was holding on tighter.

Josh was begging for more in a soft, broken sounding tone.

John’s hand found its way to his cock.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, not like this, but God, Josh, he sounded so good; he didn’t know he could beg like that, that he could sound so desperate, desperate to be fucked faster, harder. He’d just had no idea, and now that he knew, nothing felt the same. He was writhing, fucking writhing in pleasure on Tommy’s cock, and he couldn’t handle it, not when it was clear he wanted more and Tommy wasn’t giving it to him.

“Do it harder,” he urged, not quite believing it when the words came out of his mouth. “He needs it.” It was suddenly as simple as that in his brain; Josh needed it, and it wasn’t fair for Tommy not to give it. Tommy looked over at him, seeming to consider him a moment before he focused again on Josh. His strokes quickened, John could hear the wet slap of skin against skin, and Josh wasn’t begging anymore, he was clinging tighter, biting his lower lip, his breathing heavy pants through his nose, then he was coming, Tommy’s name almost leaving his lips but replaced by a sob of pleasure as his nails raked across his back.

John watched him come, his own hand practically a blur on his cock now as he handled it. Tommy didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, but he sat back on his knees more when Josh’s legs fell back to the bed in exhaustion, his feet flat against the blankets. He used the new position to push deeper into Josh, Josh who moaned still, whose cock was spent and softening now but it was so clear still wanted Tommy inside of him. John couldn’t kid himself anymore, and he came in his own hand with an embarrassed, bitten back moan while he watched Tommy finishing inside of Josh, filling him up with a low growl of pleasure.

_______________

Barsad’s legs felt like jelly as he was lowered back down onto the bed, but he kept his arms tight around Tommy’s neck, a silent plea to not leave his body just yet. He could feel his brother softening inside of him, and wished to feel his presence filling him for just a few moments more. His knew his own breathing to be ragged and unsteady, but Tommy’s hand rubbed his side and helped him calm it. So long, so long without, and now they had joined again; he felt like he was floating in the pleasure of it, the knowledge that distantly he had heard his John pleasuring himself to it, that John had been the one to convince Tommy to let go and rut into him. Tommy had been holding back, he often did unless they were all together and they could coax him to do otherwise, but John had managed it, and now he felt wonderfully sore from his brother’s attentions.

He made a pleased sound when Tommy carefully held him to his body and rolled them so he was able to lie out on top of him, feel him inside still.

He nuzzled against his neck, tasting the salt and sweat that had gathered there. “Thank you, brother.”

Tommy’s hand ran down his spine in response, and his fingers touched where they were joined still, making him shiver as they stroked once over his still stretched rim before Tommy withdrew carefully. He sighed at the loss, and looked over to John who was still red in the face, a mix of fading pleasure and embarrassment, Barsad assumed. He reached his hand out for him, and John hesitated a moment before holding out his clean one. Barsad shook his head with a mischievous smile. “The other.”

John hesitated again before holding out his other hand, still wet with his seed. Barsad took his wrist and drew it closer, sliding his tongue out and licking up the salty mess there. John’s breath caught and Barsad smiled, placing a wet kiss on the palm of his now clean, damp, hand.

“I’m glad you liked the show, sweetheart.”


	28. Chapter 28

Dinner at Bruce’s house was… strange. Wayne Manor was huge, empty; John wasn’t sure how Bruce could stand living there all on his own. It was pretty damn delicious, though, and apparently catered because Talia informed him that Bruce was not even allowed near a stove without supervision.

Ever.

He could also have done without all the teasing and almost playful family antics that made him feel warm and uncomfortable but worried at the same time. He went to see the shrink, Bruce took him, and he didn’t want to go, he really fucking didn’t, but there didn’t seem to be an option out of that one. Everyone, even Tommy, thought it was a good idea. He tried to point out that they were huge fucking hypocrites, but that didn’t go over so well. His first visit was uneventful, though, just a meet and greet, a brief overview of his event, what had happened. All in complete confidentiality, of course, the doctor had told him. John couldn’t help but wonder just how many microphones Talia had planted in the office when he said that.

He’d managed to get his story out, well, the one he’d told Gordon, not all of it, obviously, and maybe he’d had to stop a few times when his breathing got heavier and the light in the room felt like it was dimming in and out, but he’d gotten it out and that had seemed like enough for one session to him. He didn’t want to do that again, but well, somehow another appointment got set up for the next week.

Tommy and Josh wouldn’t stop fucking, fucking in front of him, and it was driving him just a little crazy maybe. They were just so… Christ, it was unfair. He couldn’t even say he felt neglected from it, because now that they’d kind of stepped over that barrier again Josh was always offering, always touching him and making sure he wasn’t “too bored,” and teaching him the beauty of being stuck in bed most of the day with a boyfriend who was definitely not opposed to a leisurely, drawn-out blowjob to fill the time.

It was just that, after he’d made John’s toes curl in ecstasy, he’d often wipe his mouth and call Tommy into the room and get ridden hard right in front of him, and on more then one occasion, while he was draped over his body, he'd started kissing him and pushing his still come coated tongue into his mouth as he moaned out for Tommy’s cock.

It was driving him more than a little crazy, actually; he’d gotten off to it almost every time no matter how wrung out he felt from Josh, which was mortifying, how he’d see Tommy’s hands touching his boyfriend and his cock would miraculously revive.

_“You like Tommy, don’t you, sweetheart,” Josh whispered in his ear. His hand was stroking him this time, wet, slow pulls up his cock that had him shuddering. His hands were gripping into the sheets, not able to figure out what to do with them, not wanting to touch Josh while he was getting pounded into, while Tommy’s hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping it to the same rhythm Josh was stroking his._

_“J-Josh.” He shook his head. Not fair, he couldn’t take it when he talked to him like this._

_“I know you do, John. I know you like watching us, and I know you think about him. Do you want me to tell you what he feels like inside?” The words were wet and breathy against his ear, cut off by a gasp as Tommy lifted Josh’s hips a bit higher and thrust into him faster. He nodded when he never should have because Josh told him in every filthy detail that he could just how much he liked having Tommy inside of him, how big he was, how it felt when he stretched him open and how much he would love for John to feel what he was feeling right then. He couldn’t help it, he reached for Josh’s hair and pulled him in to kiss him just to make him stop, just to make him stop telling him all of those fucking things, just to make him stop making him imagine how it would feel to have Tommy fucking into him just as hard as he was Josh right then._

_Tommy had pushed Josh down against him flatter, their chests flush, and Tommy’s own weight was on them both, crushing his lungs, and it shouldn’t have felt so good to be trapped under the weight of them both. He shouldn’t have shuddered when Tommy’s hand found his cheek, stroking it even while he desperately kissed at Josh._

_“I would take you until you screamed for me, John.” His words were a promise, not a boast, and John whimpered against Josh’s mouth when he felt his orgasm ripped right out of him by it._

“I won’t be long, sweetheart, I promise.” Josh slipped on his jacket and John didn’t like to think about what he was doing; hunting, he’d called it. Not going for the kill yet, gathering information in person, stalking. Talia was there, seated with him on the couch while Tommy put on his own thick coat, and John knew what babysitting was when he saw it.

“He will be just fine with me,” Talia assured Josh with a kiss. John wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know what to think of Talia or Bruce still. They were enigmas to him, cool, collected, sophisticated in a way that he knew he’d never be, but they could be playful, friendly, at least to him and the family they had created. He’d gone out boating with them again, a couple of times now, and he hadn’t exploded each time, just once or twice, but he’d maybe had fun and smiled a little at their antics and how they treated each other. He doubted anyone else saw that side of them, and it was strange to know he was part of it.

“How are you feeling, John, dear?” Her fingers were running along his scalp when the others left, and he closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be that used to them touching him, but they always were, always with those familiar touches.

“Itchy.” It was honest; the cast was starting to drive him nuts and maybe kind of smell. He’d gone to another appointment with them, and the doctor had wanted to wait a little longer before changing it.

“Poor boy.” She looked at him with a small measure of sympathy. “I recall broken bones as a child, never pleasant.”

It was hard to picture her as ever being a child, any of them, young or innocent. He mentioned that, and she laughed, lying down on the couch and putting her head in his lap.

“We are all young once, John, though we are rarely innocent for long.” Her hair tickled against his knee and he brushed it out of the way, and then continued to rub the fine, silky tresses between his fingers a little.

“What did you break?”

“Oh, many things: my arm, several times; my shoulder, once; my foot; my leg.” She took his hand and guided his fingers to her shoulder where he could see the faint outlines of an old scar. “It burst through the skin here, much like yours did; I was nine.”

_______________

She smiled as John’s fingers delicately probed at the scar, curious but cautious, as if the old wound might still cause her pain.

“Jesus, NINE? What happened?”

She pursed her lips, wondering if this was a tale to be told alone or in the presence of them all, but it was mostly her story and so she relented.

“We were travelers when I was a child, my mother, father and I. I did not understand that we were running.”

“From who?”

“My mother’s family. They were a superstitious lot, strongly grounded in old beliefs and ways. When my mother became pregnant they believed she had dishonored them all by loving my father, and they were not above killing her to restore their name. They found us, eventually.”

A dozen homes, a dozen names to remember as they wandered across the world together. She remembered holding her mother’s hand often; she had wild eyes, constantly focused on her, sharp as the knife she kept tucked into her boot. Neither had been enough to save her.

_Her mother’s eyes were no longer sharp. They no longer focused on anything. The men around her in a predatory circle ignored her shrill screams until she found her mother’s knife and stabbed it into them, her small muscles not enough to do the damage she wished, not enough to make their eyes turn dull like hers. There was a roar of pain, though, and it rushed through her ears, made her feel strong until she was grabbed up, snarled at._

_She could hear her father’s shouts as her tiny arm splintered in the vicious man’s hands._

_The sharp crack of gunfire came, again and again, and she was let go, dropped down onto the ground, her knees sliding around in the slippery, hot blood filling the small room. There was screaming and she watched, in pain and satisfaction, as her father ripped into those fallen men. The gun discarded as too merciful, he made them regret, he made them hurt, he made them suffer._

_When it was over, she was covered in the blood of them all, mingled with that of her mother, an unholy baptism into the darkness._

_He lifted her up into his arms and held her close. Her broken arm dangled down, but she did not feel it in that moment as she looked to his face._

_Her father’s eyes were different now, but then so were hers._

“My father killed them all. It awoke a beast in him, in both of us, though he tried to deny my own for many years, wishing I had been spared.”

John swore softly, and his hand withdrew. “It was that fucking young?”

She took his hand back and played with his fingertips. “I did not kill until later. I simply helped my father as he punished others for their misdeeds.”

It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to assist her father. She was his lure, his trap. With her, he could prove which men deserved to be purged from the world.

_“Are you lost, little girl?” The words were not spoken in kindness; they were twisted and cruel as a hand ran down the back of her neck. The small back ally she had allowed herself to be cornered in was filthy, and it was fitting, as usual._

_“No,” she disagreed and smiled when the hand at her neck went lax, a death gurgle coming from the man’s throat as her father’s dagger punctured his lung, filling it with blood and ending him. She was not lost at all. Her father cleaned his weapon and tucked it away, and she helped as much as she could to push the body into a nearby dumpster. Her father smoothed back her hair and looked pleased with the work of the night completed._

“He preyed on those who would hurt me; it was how he determined who was not worthy of living.”

“He… you were just a kid, he used you like fucking bait?” It was darling the way John’s hand curled around her arm then, as though she was in need of protection, of comfort.

“I insisted.”

“You were a CHILD,” he argued.

She laughed. “A child forged by pain and suffering, John; not an innocent. If he had not allowed me to assist him, I would have gone off on my own. As it was, I did not take life on my own until I was fourteen, when I met Tommy.”

The hand on his arm jerked slightly. Oh, he wanted so badly to ask. She didn’t make him suffer from his curiosity and told him instead.

_She could smell blood, a scent she had learned to associate mainly with her father, but her father was away for the evening, business. Her mother’s family fortune, one her father had ripped away from the family’s name even as he wiped the name from existence, had provided for them, and he was wise in how he invested it, to be sure her future would be sound. It was curious, then, to smell the scent as she wandered the dark, close to an old park, the rickety chains of swings creaking in the still air._

_There was no one around. They had not been in this town long, but it was an empty, quiet place, and she enjoyed that because it meant she could enjoy the night air without her father’s constant worry. Now, however, the scent of blood called to her and made her heart shiver, wishing her father with her so that she might help him end a life. He had ordered her not to do such things on her own, though she wished it. She would indulge him as long she could if he wished to try to shelter her still. She was ready, though, she knew this._

_A piercing scream, stinking of terror, filled the air. She looked around cautiously, but there was no one but her to hear it as it came from the small copse of trees near the abandoned playground. She followed; who could resist such a call?_

_There was a man there, still young in the face as he crouched over a heap of flesh that struggled under his thick limbs. His eyes were barely visible in the faint moonlight, but she could still see that they were the same. She had never seen such a thing in another beyond her father; not in those men her father ended, they behaved for the desires of the flesh, for the enjoyment. This man killed because it was his nature, as it was now theirs._

_She let her foot snap down onto a thick stick as she walked closer. The man froze and jerked his head towards her. His hand dropped the rock he had been holding in a tight grip; it had been used to make parts of the form under him into messy pulp. She had not seen such mess since her father had first exacted their terrible vengeance for her mother._

_“You are not doing it properly.” She felt no fear as she knelt down beside him. His hands were large and slippery with blood and gore as the prey under them tried to scream out beyond the gag. She slipped her dagger from her boot and into his hands. He took it from her with a jerk of his fingers, held it clumsily and she corrected his form with her own hands, sharing the blood between their fingers. His eyes snapped to hers and she watched him to see if he would do it correctly._

_“If you wish it to end swiftly push here, or perhaps here,” she ran her hands over different spots on the prone figure, parts that would end its existence quickly._

_“However, if you wish it to continue longer, then there are many other places you could cut.”_

_He watched her as the body beneath them quivered until he finally spoke. His accent was strange to her, but his voice was soft, like an angel of death’s should be. “Where?”_

_She showed him, and when he cut, she played with the thick blood that bubbled up. It poured out between her fingers until they ended it together._


	29. Chapter 29

He was staring down at her as she finished the story. He looked horrified, it was entertaining, truly, but she was pleased that, even after the tale, he did not seem to recoil from her in fear as he so often had before. He was becoming accustomed to them, drawn in to them.

“What about your father?”

“My father was most displeased,” she recalled fondly. “He knew Tommy had not chosen the girl for any reason other than his need to kill. I liked him, though, defended him, took him home with me and we washed the blood from each other. It was my first kill and he soothed me through the after emotions of it. Even my father could not break such a bond. My first kill was ours together, and he recognized that, took Tommy in, taught him what he knew, to make the killing logical, a reaping and not mindless slaughter.”

“Fuck.”

“Not until we were older; my father threatening to kill him if he tried was less a threat and more a promise than for most.” She smirked slightly and John paused, then even he laughed.

_______________

His brother’s arm was warm around him as they walked through the cool air. It was not hard to blend into Gotham’s night life, and Tommy was so skilled at observing, seeing things in others that they tried to keep hidden. When they sat at a bar and pretended to lose themselves in drink, he would watch and be able to create a list of potentials in his mind that would later be carefully researched and trailed. There were still some between them that had been chosen for purging, but Tommy was wise in that he always kept the list of potentials long so that it could be drawn on as needed if things went sour.

Barsad was learning to do it, too; in fact, it had been what he was supposed to have been doing the night he met John, but it had been the rare night of being alone from his family that had made him feel the dark sliding over his skin. Only John being there had been the reason he had not needed to be cleansed by his brother that night.

It felt good to be out and by his brother’s side again. He could feel the darkness creeping in a bit, though it was not enough to affect his mind yet. It was a gentle buzz in his ears, a soft reminder that he would never quite be like those they walked by. They talked together at the bar, and Tommy had him practice picking out people to research later.

“That one,” he partly guessed, but the girl did seem to have something strange about her.

Tommy took a small sip of his drink and shook his head. “You are merely grasping, now. Are you tired?”

“Distracted,” he admitted. “We’ve been out for a while, now. Do you think he is ok?”

“Call Talia. You are useless to me as you are.” His tone was scolding, but it did not match his eyes which were softened slightly in amusement. Barsad gave him a sheepish grin and placed a quick call to their sister, being assured that John was doing well and speaking to him for a few moments.

“All is well?” Tommy asked, and Barsad suddenly realized the call had not merely been for his own sake.

“You worried, too.” He smiled and leaned against Tommy’s side. He did not kiss him, it would draw attention, but he wished to and would once they left the bar.

“He is troubled, still. Talia has always done well with soothing you.”

“You soothe him, as well; he likes when you hold him.” It was truth. His brother was so solid, and his grip was a reassurance. How could John help but enjoy such a thing?

“He is… fickle.” Tommy’s lips curled into a smile. “Like an angry cat.”

Barsad laughed quietly. “He settles better than that.”

“For you.”

“For you one day, too, I think.”

The continued their search; he was better able to focus now, and Tommy was pleased with how his observations progressed before they finished for the evening.

“How soon until the next?” They slipped back into Tommy’s truck and he ran a hand down Barsad’s leg.

“I feel it can wait a week, perhaps even two. Bruce said I could use his site again, so I would not need to bring it home.”

“He will have to get used to the kills one day, Barsad,” Tommy informed him seriously.

He looked down but nodded. It could not be avoided forever, though he wished to spare him from it. “I know. He is so innocent still, though… and his memories still haunt him.”

“They will for some time. I do not wish him to be upset in our home, either, Barsad, but you cannot tiptoe around him as though on broken glass. You will stress yourself, and that is never wise.”

Tommy was right. Things were not as stressful now that John was settling, but it was still a struggle at times, when he was used to absolute acceptance in their home, to worry about what could and could not be said in it around John for fear he would shy away from him. Tommy always knew best.

_______________

“John? I will go out tonight.” The words were more serious than the playfulness they had just shared sitting together on the back porch in the twilight, their chairs pushed up tight together as they cuddled close under a blanket and looked out at the stars. There were actually stars there to see in the smaller neighborhood; John remembered in the skies deeper in town the lights blocked them all out.

“Oh.” He realized after a moment what he meant. Josh took his hand and held it a moment.

“Tommy will stay here with you again.” Like that was supposed to be a reassurance.

“Josh…”

“I’m sorry.”

John knew he was. It had been weeks since the first time he’d left, and now that he knew what he was looking for, he could feel how Josh’s arms were tenser when he held him as the time passed, how his sleep was more fitful and he’d wake up sometimes in the night and it would take Tommy or himself to get him to rest again. Just because he knew the signs didn’t make it any easier. He wrapped his arms tightly around Josh and felt the embrace returned. It wasn’t any easier, but he let go eventually and let himself be led inside, feeling weak for it, for being too selfish to try to stop Josh. He should at least try to stop him, shouldn’t he?

Tommy was there, of course, he was always fucking there, wasn’t he? Always fucking there, and he was just on the couch reading when Josh had left, like that was ok,  and John stood there in the hall, watching him read.

He glanced up finally after he slowly turned a page. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed and walked over. He was getting pretty good with his crutches, now. He eased down beside him and was pulled closer. “I fucking hate it.”

“No one expects you to like it, John.”

“We’re not having sex,” he pointed out, just to stave off any ideas. The last time had been a crazy mistake and even though Josh was maybe driving him a little insane about sleeping with Tommy in front of him and telling him all about how he’d like to see the same, no, just no.

Tommy chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not particularly in the mood, either.”

“Oh. Well, good.” He didn’t know Tommy could NOT be in the mood, considering how he went at Josh. That was just fine by him. He didn’t care. He was getting pretty great sex already, thanks. Tommy read to him, instead, and he listened. Tommy read to him more often now; being in a cast was boring, and it was kind of interesting stuff, when he explained it to him better than the book could. Last time Bruce had come over, he’d even been able to contribute to the conversation and he’d felt, well, pretty proud of himself when Bruce had tilted his head thoughtfully and conceded a point to him. No more kiddy table for John. He was moving on up in the serial killer food chain.

He made a choked noise. That wasn’t fucking funny.

Tommy paused. “Are you alright?”

He nodded quickly and pressed his face into Tommy’s shoulder, hoping against hope he wouldn’t feel any of the wetness that left his eyes and was wicked away by the fabric. Don’t lose it. He could keep it together, even though Josh wasn’t there right now, so he didn’t have to worry about keeping it together for him. He’d only had a few attacks since that basement, and none had been so severe; sudden anxiousness, his chest pounding at times. The doctor they were still making him talk to said it wasn’t surprising, and his acute distress had become post-traumatic which, when asked what that meant, he had simply told him that because it wasn’t going away they gave it another name. Nice. He also gave him a helpful list of things he was experiencing emotionally that resonated a little too deeply for his comfort. He didn’t need to be shown a piece of paper with what all the fuck was wrong with his head right now.

“John. Breathe deeply.” The words were a gentle command.

He sucked in a breath, not aware he’d been holding it for the past few moments, and he felt a little dizzy and anxious now. Tommy wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back. He grasped onto the soft cotton of his shirt, and started the breathing exercise the doctor had given him. At least he was useful for that.  He rolled his shoulders a little to loosen them and took slow measured breathes, holding them in before blowing them out slowly. He was ok, and Tommy kept a firm hand on his back while he did it.

“Well done,” he spoke after a long period of silence, and John finally opened his eyes to look at him.

“I’m ok,” he announced quietly, just as much to himself as to Tommy.

Tommy only nodded. “You are ok, John,” he agreed, and John felt more relaxed by that because it felt like Tommy was the first one in the house to tell him when he didn’t have his shit together. They went back to reading, and didn’t leave the couch even late into the night when Josh slipped in and John had been dozing lightly on Tommy’s shoulder, mumbling in complaint if he stopped reading to him even if he was half asleep. Josh looked clean and freshly washed when he sat down beside him, and John sat up, alert at his return.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kissed him, and John could smell clean hair and shampoo, not blood like he had kind of feared he would. He relaxed and sagged back onto the couch when Josh’s hands carded through his hair, stroked his cheeks, and he told him how much he missed him. He was selfish. So selfish, and he couldn’t make himself care. It was too easy to pretend Josh was just going out for the night, nothing more, and so he wrapped his arms around him and asked him to help him to bed.


	30. Chapter 30

He still felt moody the next morning when Talia and Bruce picked him up for his leg appointment. They seemed to sense it, and were more quiet with him, actually giving him a little more space by having him in the back of the car. He was surprised when Bruce suddenly pulled off onto the side of the road before they met with the more busy roadways. Talia turned to face him.

“John, do you need to be angry now?” she asked seriously.

He did. He’d thought about them going on the boat today, and part of him had been a little relieved and fidgety at the idea that he could just be mad there. Just angry that he couldn’t figure out anything, that he didn’t feel in control of his own body when he felt an attack coming on like he had last night, that he couldn’t do anything about Josh and his need and that he was such a terrible fucking person because he didn’t care about people dying enough to be able to figure out how to fix this.

“The doctor appointment,” he pointed out, feeling his throat grow tighter at the idea of having to deal with people right now.

“There is time.” Talia unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the backseat with him.

“We can’t, not here, the windows, someone would see it,” he argued and pushed at her a little when she slid closer.

“They are tinted an abhorrently illegal shade. No one will see. It is just us, John. Let go.”

He shouldn’t have felt so relieved when he did just that.

He erupted and shoved at her hold, and then Bruce’s when he carefully climbed into the back with them. They held him down, pinned him carefully when he tried to rip away from their grip and they never judged him for it, didn’t get angry back, and God, that just made it worse. He raged and cursed, and just like on the boat, they just accepted it and waited for him to get it out. Fuckers, he hated them in that moment, they shouldn’t be so fucking nice to him. Why was he living through this when so many other people had died? He felt guilty and angry and tired now that he’d spent his energy. His limbs fell weakly to the seat and he sighed.

“I don’t get why I’m still alive.” He let his head drop back onto the headrest. Talia placed her head against his chest.

“Survivor’s guilt,” she pointed out simply and rubbed his leg.

“Pointing out what it is I’m feeling doesn’t make it go away,” he shot back tiredly. Bruce’s hand rubbed his forehead, pushing back some of the tension headache that was creeping into his skull.

“No, but you are alive because you are special, John; you are our brother.”

“I’m not. I’m not like you at all.”

“You do not need to kill, no, but you are our brother all the same. Full of things you cannot control, and once lost in a world that did not love you. Now we have found you, and we are family.”

“Our brother,” Bruce agreed quietly, and when he leaned close to press their foreheads together, John felt something break up in his chest a bit. He grabbed onto Bruce’s hair, sinking his fingers into the slicked back locks and pulled his lips against his mouth.  He felt Bruce still in surprise a moment before he tilted his head, slotted their mouths together better and kissed him, swept his tongue against his lips in a slow, serious manner that made heat trickle up John’s spine and he parted his lips. His hand curled under his chin to hold him still, and John felt like he shouldn’t have been so surprised that Bruce kissed so intently, that he pressed his tongue into his mouth and tasted him like he had every right in the world to do it.

Talia made a sound of approval, and her nose rubbed lightly against his cheek. Bruce kept kissing him and John felt a bit lightheaded from it, honestly. He felt like maybe he should have thought this through a little more, or at all, instead of letting his emotions get the better of him, but Bruce pulled back and ran a thumb over his lip, looking pleased with him, and he’d be a goddamn liar if he said he hadn’t always been a sucker for approval.

“Don’t be selfish, Bruce.” Her hand cupped his cheek, and then Talia’s lips were just out of his reach, her breath brushed over his own and, well, bad life choices were just where he was going, today, because he leaned in to kiss her, next. Her lips were soft and slick. To be honest, it’d been a long time since he’d gone kissing a girl, and he remembered it being different, all bubblegum chapstick and flowery perfume, not like this at all. Talia was vicious with her tongue and teeth; they scraped over his lips, made him groan when she bit into his lower lip, sucked lightly until it felt swollen and over sensitive, a move that he thought was mostly his own, and having it used against him was not entirely fair and more than a little bit of a turn on. Her kisses felt like that were burned against his lips, branding him, then Bruce tilted him back and cooled them back down with a gentle breath over his bitten mouth and another kiss. He couldn’t help but remember when he’d kissed Tommy and Josh, how Josh had been passed back and forth between them, except now he was in the middle.

It spooked him a little, and he had to take a deep breath and pull back, but they didn’t take it any further, Talia just smiled at him. “Do you feel better?”

He shrugged a little, because that was a fucking loaded question. He got a kiss to his temple from Talia who stayed in the back with him for the rest of the trip. Jesus Christ, he was such a fucking mess. He just had to fall for anyone who showed him the slightest bit of affection, didn't he? That had to be it.

At least there was a cast change. A glorious cast change. The old one had been starting to smell, and he was able to get a glimpse of his leg, looking pale and thinner than the other, gross, but he demanded the opportunity to itch his knee carefully before the new cast was applied. It was more lightweight fiberglass instead of heavy plaster, and the weight difference was amazing. When it dried, it was so much easier to walk with. They went out to lunch, and while they waited for their food they took turns doodling on his cast. He made the effort not to turn his head when he heard the flash of photography this time.

“This is the third time they’ve seen us out to lunch. I’m probably going to be asked my opinions on gay marriage next time the press gets a hold of me,” Bruce pointed out glibly. He was drawing, of all things, a dollar sign by his freshly signed name on the cast, the cheeky fucker.

“That is really so tacky,” he pointed out.

Bruce smirked slightly and added two more dollar signs to his name. A smile tugged at the corner of John’s lips. They were at a little Italian restaurant, apparently a pretty fucking fancy one, but one could get away with wearing sweats and a t-shirt if they were accompanying Bruce Wayne and Miranda Tate, so he only felt a little self-conscious about it while he gobbled his gnocchi.

“I’m kind of tired. Could we maybe skip the boating today?” He’d like a nap. It was a little embarrassing how much he got tuckered out and went for a nap now, honestly, he felt like he needed a goddamn juice box to go with it, but Josh always assured him that it was his leg still knitting together that was taking all of his energy. Still, he wanted a nap, and they’d already gotten all of the rage-induced touchy-feelys out of the way, so he was pretty sure they wouldn’t make him go out on the water if he wasn't feeling up for it.

Bruce and Talia exchanged a look, but that wasn’t so unusual, they exchanged a whole lot of looks. How the hell the tabloids really didn’t think they were fucking was beyond him.

“We won’t force you if you don’t want to go, John, but we’ll be getting back home earlier that way.” Bruce took a sip from his wine glass and John shrugged, fine by him. The ride home was quiet, and Bruce told him he’d walk him to the door, Talia coming along. They were being weird, but, well, serial killers; weird in general. He proudly made it to the front door in record time with the new cast, and opened the door, heading inside and calling out for Josh.

He wasn’t sure why he’d been too stupid to put two and two together, but it clicked with a kind of sickening flow of reality smacking him in the face when he didn’t get a response.

He heard a scream, a final scream, when he walked into the living room, and his body went tight with horror. Tommy had used the time he was out to bring someone here, he probably had every appointment. Every time he left the house, somebody died there. He was killing people just by leaving.

He tried to rush towards the basement. He couldn’t, he couldn’t just not do anything. There was someone DYING. It was different when he could hear it. Oh God, he didn’t want to go down into that basement, it was a nightmare down there, everything wrong in this house culminated and festered in that dark pit, but someone was fucking dying and he could hear it. He got as far as the door, wrapped his shaking fingers around the brass knob before Bruce wrapped his arms tightly around him and pulled him to the couch.

“Easy, John.”

“Let me go, Bruce! Tommy, STOP IT!” he shouted at the door, but fuck, Bruce was strong, maybe as strong as Tommy even, and he couldn’t break out of his grip. He couldn’t hear any more screams, and that meant it was probably over and fuck, someone was dead down there.  

“TOMMY!”

Talia helped hold him down to the couch, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Shh, Tommy isn’t here right now, John, and it is over.”

He felt nauseated, out eating lunch while someone was getting killed; he wanted to throw up. The only reason he even felt like he could breathe right then was because there weren’t any more screams, and he couldn’t even be grateful for that. Screaming meant someone was still alive.

_______________

Bane heard Tommy being shouted for as he finished the creature beneath him. Their lamb stirred in the corner at the sound and looked uncertain.

His voice hissed slightly through the mask, “He must learn not to shout.” Screaming was one thing, John’s screams were quite musical, but Bane did not like shouting. It was crass.

Barsad nodded quickly in agreement, and Bane knew it would be dealt with later. He felt Tommy tugging on the edges of his thoughts, pushing him down a bit. It did not hurt to leave. He held no animosity towards Tommy, though they disagreed often. They fought frequently. However, when Tommy was being too controlling or not letting Bane do what he considered necessary, then it was simply his duty to keep control, and it was much easier than Tommy liked for him to do so.

He smiled slightly behind his mask.  Bane liked Tommy, cared for him. He was innocent in ways Bane was not. Tommy was strong, but he was too soft, and if he could not keep order, if he could not control his family, keep things safe and quiet, then Bane would have no qualms with keeping Tommy locked away inside, tucking him into his heart where he would remain sheltered from the world, safe deep inside of Bane. He knew Tommy knew that, and that it scared him, but it shouldn’t. He would take care of him; he always had.

Tommy pushed a little more firmly, trying to insist he come out, and he would let him in a moment, but there was the sound of footsteps now and Talia entered the room. He had not seen her in some time, and he nodded in greeting. She sidestepped the gore and scattered remains carefully, walked up to him, fearlessly pressing her fingers to his mask. Talia had never once feared him as Bane, never once, and it made him so proud of her strength. She knew all of him after all; she had helped teach him, he had cleansed her when she slipped. She knew him as well as she knew Tommy, and still she approached him with as much ease as if they were one and the same. Fearless.

“He did not mean to shout. He was surprised,” she soothed lightly, knowing his distaste for such things. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement and pressed stained fingertips to her cheek before he let Tommy go. Her fingers went to the mask, working it off.

Tommy pulled his fingers back from her cheek, wiping them onto his rubber coat. “He shouldn’t touch you with blood on his hands,” he commented with a sigh.

Talia merely smiled. “He knows I have never minded. I am sorry John disturbed him.”

“He was nearly finished, it was no real disturbance,” he assured. Bane had not needed to speed up the kill; it had been almost perfect timing, really. “You are back early.”

“He did not wish to go boating.”

Barsad stood finally from the corner, looking up at the stairs. “You could not have insisted?” he asked lightly, as close to argumentative as he ever became, and then his eyes flicked suddenly downward. “I am sorry.”

Talia walked over and pulled him close for an embrace. “You can’t shelter him forever, lambkin. This is what we are.”

“I know, sister.” He wrapped his arms around her, sighing in agreement. “I merely wish that I could.”

“He is still very innocent to have not realized what was going on,” she pointed out. “Go soothe him. I will help clean.”

Barsad nodded and said thank you, quickly heading back up the stairs. Tommy could hear muffled yelling and shook his head, Talia merely helping him out of his slicker.

“Innocent, but fiery.”

He chuckled softly in agreement, and together the cleaned the room and themselves. The shouting faded eventually, and Tommy assumed that John had perhaps calmed down.  He spoke quietly as they walked up the staircase together.

“His appointment went well?”

“Yes, a new cast even. He’ll get around better.”

“Good and bad; he might be inspired to try to slip out.”

Talia shook her head. “He is so attached to Barsad. Do you think he really would?”

“He might, still. He holds very tightly to his idea of morals. How are his sessions going?”

She shrugged slightly, opening the door. “I have not been listening in. He has been doing well; I thought to give him a small measure of privacy.”


	31. Chapter 31

_“I have not been listening in. He has been doing well; I thought to give him a small measure of privacy.”_

He almost didn’t hear the words. He wouldn’t have if Josh or Bruce had still been in the room on the couch with him, instead of giving him a few minutes alone like he’d asked for, finally, when he was feeling too fucking overwhelmed with guilt to even be comforted by Josh holding his hand.

No one was listening in on his sessions. No one.

Don’t let them know you heard them. Fuck. He repeated it again and again, fixing Tommy with a glare when he walked into the room. Then, oh yeah, that wasn’t that hard because Tommy had just killed someone and he wasn’t pretending at all. He didn’t talk to him or Josh or, well, anyone for most of the rest of the day, and they let him be a bit, even though Josh stayed with him, read beside him, checked to make sure he didn’t need anything. Could he do this? Could he really tell this doctor what was going on? He had to. He really had to. Things were going too far, he was getting too deep. God, had he really kissed Talia and Bruce that morning? It had felt crazy but ok when he did it and that was fucking dangerous. That meant he was getting too close. He couldn't keep letting this go on.

Just keep it together. He could keep it together until his next appointment, even though he didn’t know what to say, or do. Should he just blurt it out, should he ask for a phone and call Gordon? What if the guy didn’t believe him? Thought he was nuts? Could he convince him before Talia picked him up?

What if he did believe him? What would happen to Josh? Fuck, he hated this. He hated so much that he couldn’t think of something that would make this ok no matter how hard he tried. People were DYING, dying in the same house as he was in, and he was the only person who could put a stop to it. He couldn't let any more people die. He had to do something. His apointment was in the morning and he slept fitfully that night.

He made sure to kiss Josh that morning, ran his fingers slowly down his cheek as he slept.

Don’t lose it.

Tommy was sleeping beside Josh. His finger might have found his way to his lips, a barely-there touch before he snatched his hand back. He was only losing Josh, here. There wasn’t anyone else to lose; he didn’t care about anyone else here. Losing Josh was bad enough, and there wasn’t anyone else here to lose because if there was, he might break.

Talia poked her head in through the door and gave him a light smile, told him good morning, asked if he was ready to leave. He didn’t really know the answer. He felt like he should know the answer, but he didn’t, not when he got into the car, not while they tried to make small talk with him, not when he walked into the appointment area and sat down carefully, laying his crutches over his lap.

He could feel the waver in his voice when the session started as normal, his fingers were shaking as he held on tightly to the metal tubing of his crutches. He could do this. He could say this. He’d just start small; find a way to bring it up. Bring up that he’d been abducted and that he needed help. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to mention Josh, maybe he could just get out, get out. If he did that, though, people were still going to die, he just wouldn’t be around when it happened. Would that really be any fucking better?

He kept talking, not really paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth, the usual things… how he was feeling, lies, if he’d had an attack, if he’d done the breathing exercises. His doctor seemed, frankly, almost bored of him at this point, calmly telling him what he would experience, and acting like what John had experienced was fucking ordinary. Maybe that pissed him off; if he was being forced to go to this asshole, the least he could do was fucking pay attention to him.

“Look, you have no fucking idea what I felt,” he finally snapped because he could. “You have no idea what fear is.”

His doctor paused in his notes at that and looked up, seeming suddenly interested again, taking his glasses off slowly and considering him. “Well, then why don’t you tell me, John?”

_______________

Talia tilted her head when John walked out of the room. The doctor’s arm was helping to support John, which was an unusual sight. She had seen the doctor as much more aloof than warm in his job due to his intelligence and knowledge of the mind, not his caring of it. It was why she did not mind him. John’s breathing was heavier, and when he flicked his eyes up towards her she felt a bit of anger at the thought of her little brother being so fearful, so wild.

“What happened?” She let her voice fill with concern, true concern, but more than she would ever show if she were not carefully slipped into her persona as Miranda Tate. Miranda Tate, strong business woman, bleeding heart to keep her seeming kindhearted to the press, but not a fool; cool, collected. She enjoyed being her, honestly. She was as close to herself as the outside world ever got to see.

“We started exposure therapy today. It triggered an attack. It’s not unusual.”

John stared at her blankly for a moment before he straightened, tried to appear ok. The poor boy always wore his emotions on his sleeve even though it was clear he hated being vulnerable. It was a conundrum to be sure, though this was stronger than his usual emotions. She slipped her arm around his and nodded to the doctor.

“I would like to see him again, tomorrow.”

John’s arm stiffened against hers, and she pushed her fingers into it lightly.

“He is busy tomorrow,” she politely informed him. She felt the muscles under her fingers loosen slightly. This exposure therapy must have been intense indeed. She would talk to John about it in private.

“The next day, then; it’s important not to wait too long between treatments.” The man gave her a cordial, tight smile.

“Then I should have been informed previously, Dr. Crane. John Blake is in my care at the moment, and I am sure you are aware that I do not have time to spare. He will be at his weekly scheduled appointment.” She made certain her smile was precisely as cordial as the doctor’s before she led John from the building.

“Are you alright, John?” She waited until they were seated in the car alone.

“I’m fine,” he replied tightly. He was not fine. It was quite plain to see. His eyes were open wide as he stared blankly out the window, unfocused. She found herself displeased that she had not listened in on the session. Something felt wrong. This felt like more, and her instincts were sharp honed things, never to be ignored.

“John—”

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped out. She studied him, shoulders tense, breathing in short pants as he tried to control it. Her heart told her that he was prey, pure and simple, and she calmly pushed the thought aside.

“You are not ‘fine’, John,” she stated firmly.

“He… he turned out the lights. That was all, ok? OK?” He forced the words out when they sounded tight in his throat. “Shut the blinds and turned them out.”

She continued to watch him. Something still seemed off. Perhaps she would need to go back to listening to sessions, or study this doctor more closely.

“Very well, John.” She ran her hand slowly down his leg, perturbed by the slight flinch, how his nails dug into his arm, not for her own sake but for his.

_______________

Barsad wrapped his arms around John, nuzzling into the back of his neck. A light cast made it easier for John to be on his side and he honestly loved holding him like this. He sometimes missed the tiny bed in John’s apartment and their excuse for sleeping on top of each other that came with it. When the cast was off, he wanted to be able to roll John onto his belly and take him until he was limp from it, all worked open and sleepy. Maybe by then Tommy would be able to join, and they could take turns until John was so spent he’d be half asleep even when one of them finished inside of him. Then he’d stretch out over him and nuzzle his neck, taste the sweat on his skin, and they’d sleep touching as much as they could.

It was a nice thought, and he considered whispering it into John’s ear, just to tease him a little, but John didn’t seem like he was in a very good mood today. He hadn’t been doing well since he’d found out Tommy was taking victims home while he was out. Sometimes he didn’t understand John; Tommy needed the kill just as desperately as Barsad did, but he only seemed to be able to make that allowance in his mind for Barsad. It was sweet of him, but he wished John could see that Tommy didn’t have a choice, either, that it was just how things had to be. John’s breathing wasn’t evening out just yet into sleep, and so he slipped his arm down from his side to take hold of his hand, lacing their fingers, planting a light kiss just between his shoulder blades.

“Not going to talk to me, sweetheart?” He didn’t wish to make John feel guilty, but he knew sometimes he was like this, even before, trying to bottle up emotions even when they were so easy to see in his body language. Sometimes if he mentioned it, pointed out how obvious it was, John would talk, get his feelings out.

Sometimes; not tonight, though. The fingers laced with his gave a little squeeze, but he was quiet otherwise. He kissed the back of his neck and held him a little tighter, until his breathing evened out and he slept. Tommy came in, and Barsad sighed and leaned into his touch.

“He was doing so well for a while.”

Tommy made a noise of agreement and stripped of his shirt for sleep. “He is still upset. These things take time; he has been with us for such a short time. Think of how much his world has changed in that small amount of time.”

It was true, and Barsad nodded gratefully at his brother’s wisdom.  When he lay down behind him, he let his head drop back against his chest, letting out a contented sigh when Tommy ran his fingers down his thigh.

“I thought Talia and Bruce were to see you tonight?”

Tommy pet up his side, rubbing into his muscle, relaxing him further, and making him melt into the bed as he kept his hold on John. “They said they had something to take care of.”

“Would you care for my body?” he offered.

Tommy chuckled fondly at that. “I will always care for your body, my lamb. Perhaps in the morning, however. We will hope he is in better spirits.”


	32. Chapter 32

_He felt sick just from getting all of the story out, the REAL story, all of those memories and pain and what had happened, the fall, the body, the silent head in the warehouse and the faceless screams of Tommy’s victims. Bile was in the back of his throat and the room’s lights felt dimmer._

_“John, that is quite a story—”_

_“You don’t, you don’t fucking understand what it’s like. They KILL people. I’m not making this up. You have to help me.”_

_“Why haven’t you mentioned this before, John?” his voice was soothing, questioning, but he didn’t seem like he thought he was crazy, at least maybe not completely crazy._

_“Because they’ve, Talia—Ms. Tate, she’s been recording in the room. I couldn’t, Jesus, I didn’t want them coming after you.”_

_“She’s been recording?” his voice was sharper, then. “Now?”_

_“No, I mean, she said she stopped, I heard her. I don’t know, she said she wanted to give me privacy.” John dropped his head down into his hands and, fuck, he felt weak when a small sob rocked through him. He’d done it. He’d finally told the whole fucking story, and his guts felt torn up inside, his chest so tight he could barely breathe, a combination of reliving the story as he told it and the knowledge that he’d just given up Josh, maybe forever, given up on all of them forever._

_“So what you’re saying, John, is that you’ve been living in a state of constant fear? That your life revolves around it?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, that’s pretty fucking accurate. You have to help me. Just let me use a phone or something, put a call in to Gordon.”_

_“I find that fascinating, John,” Dr. Crane continued as though he hadn’t heard the second part, as though he was lost in thought. “Truly, I do.”_

_“Yeah, fucking fascinating. I’ll give you an interview, let you write a whole fucking book on me when this is over, just let me use your phone.”_

_“You see, John, fear has always been what fascinates me most about the human mind. The power of the_ _mind over the body, it’s such a fascinating thing. Did you know, for instance, that one can actually die of fright?”_

_John felt a sick jolt inside. Something was wrong, here._

_“I’d always heard it. I’d never believed it, myself, until I saw it. So you can imagine how fascinated I was by it. I think we’re ready to try some exposure therapy, John.”_

_“What are you talking about? Will you just fucking LISTEN to me? I need some fucking HELP! This isn’t a joke!”_

_“John, Miranda Tate is a respected woman. Do you really expect me to believe she has abducted you, is murdering people for sport, and now is taking you for therapy sessions?” He looked at him calmly, with a faint smile on his face._

_“No. No, fuck you! You do believe me!” he yelled out, wrestling with his crutches to grab them and stand._

_“John. Sit down. I’m sure you’re aware how important confidentiality is in my field, but if you’re having this paranoid idea running through your mind, if I think you might hurt Ms. Tate because of it, well I have an obligation to speak to her about it.”_

_“Y-you—” he stopped in a panic. “No, no, you can’t do that. You believe me! I KNOW YOU FUCKING BELIEVE ME!”_

_“Sit down, John. Let’s try some exposure therapy, and if I think it helps, we won’t have to speak to Ms. Tate about this.”_

_How had this gone so wrong? He forced himself to sit. He had finally done it. He’d finally gotten his story out, and nothing was changing. Dr. Crane was simply going around the room, pulling the thick curtains shut, making the room feel closed off and small. John’s breath started to seize up in his lungs._

_Dr. Crane strode calmly around the room, taking careful, measured steps as he turned off the bright incandescent lighting overhead. John jumped and looked around nervously. It was dark; only the lesser glow of a nearby desk lamp lit the room, now. The windows were completely blocked off._

_“What are you doing?” his own voice sounded like ghost in the room as he heard more than saw Dr. Crane come back, like a creature from the shadows suddenly illuminated by the glow of the desk light._

_“It’s called exposure for a reason, John,” he pointed out reasonably. John watched as he slid something off the desk and into his hand, his other hovering over the lamp switch, watching him intently._

_“Oh fuck, please, please don’t turn that off!” He felt terror welling up inside of him at the thought._

_“Don’t worry, John.” Nimble fingers stroked over the switch. “The entire room has been soundproofed for these sorts of things. So don’t hold back. I’d be very disappointed if you held back.”_

_“Please, please don’t!” he begged. “I know you believe me! I know it! Why won’t you help me?” The last part came out as a frantic shout. He banged his fists down onto the chair and sobbed when he heard the soft click, when the world went dark. There was a hiss, something in the air, and when he opened his mouth to scream, it felt like it was flooding his lungs._

_Something seized up inside of him._

_He was too terrified to scream. His body convulsed, and he bit down sharply on his tongue, nearly cleaving it in two. No shrieks came out, only petrified grunts when his mouth refused to open, garbled noises when his eyes rolled back into his head._

_“Fascinating.”_

_The voice crawled around inside of his brain, and his head jerked to get it out. He tried to scream, screaming was better than this terrible silence where he was being watched in the dark, observed like a bug, studied._

_“Wha—” It was like trying to breathe underwater, to even get a word, a fucking syllable out._

_“A chemical I’ve been working on, I find it helps speed along the processes.”_

_“S—” It was too much. He gnashed his teeth and felt saliva dribbling out from between his lips, tears streaming down his face, and he couldn’t scream. He’d never wanted to scream so badly in his life. There were things worse than that warehouse, and they were right in here with him, watching him lose his mind._

He jerked awake, sucking in lungfuls of air. Jesus, he’d dreamt about it every night since it had happened, trapped in that chair with every demon imaginable creeping across his flesh as he was watched. Then finally, finally, a small timer had gone off and the lights filled the room, a cloth had been tossed into his lap and he had mechanically wiped the spit and tears off of his cheeks; there still hadn’t been enough air in the room, and Dr. Crane had seemed vaguely disappointed with something.

_“Your session is over.”_

He hadn’t wanted to be touched, but Dr. Crane’s grip had been tight on his arm when he had led him out to Talia. He had still felt completely out of his mind, had waited for him to ask to speak to her alone, not sure which idea he dreaded more, going back for another session or Talia finding out that he’d told. It still hadn’t felt right, even out in the sunlight. He had still felt like there was something inside of him. Had the stuff been a drug? Had he still been drugged? It had felt like he was surrounded all day by invisible things that watched him, it hadn’t faded until the next morning when he had just felt hollow inside. He had felt like that the rest of the week, until that hollow had started to slowly fill with a sense of dread each day that had ticked off and brought him closer to his next appointment. He couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t tell Josh. They’d find out he told, and he didn’t know what would happen then, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be pretty.

His next scheduled appointment was today.

How could he survive another appointment like that, though? When he felt like he was going to die? Had Dr. Crane been right? Could someone die of fright? Was that what he was trying to do? He shook the idea off. Dr. Crane was an asshole for not believing him about Talia, and possibly nuts, but this was therapy, fucking awful therapy that he never wanted to go to again, but therapy. He’d try to talk to him again today, explain things.

He felt sick.

Maybe he could convince them to let him skip today. Just today. He was fine, he could keep doing sessions, but if he could just have a little more time. Maybe he could figure out a way to convince Dr. Crane, or at least get to a phone. Hell, maybe he could knock the guy out with one of his crutches and pickpocket him for his.

“John, you’re going,” Talia insisted. Her voice sounded like she wasn’t interested in making it open for discussion. His stomach flip-flopped.

“I just… I don’t feel very good today.” He tried to give her his best sick look, the one he’d use in the boys’ home when he didn’t feel like going out to the rec area, when he just wanted to be left alone.

“Then we’ll go, and you can come back after and rest.” She handed him his coat. “I have heard that it is important not to skip such things, and the time has already been shifted once today.”

“You don’t even believe in therapy bullshit,” he argued, “I can tell. And why did it get shifted?”

“Because he is a busy person, like me; you have been moved to what is usually their lunch break.”

He remembered one time they’d gotten there a little early during lunch. The entire building had been like a tomb. He rubbed his hands together, feeling their clamminess.

“Please… please don’t make me go, Talia.”

She paused and looked back at him from the door.

“I don’t want to go.” The words were little more than a soft whisper.

Her fingers slid down his cheek and cupped his chin, tilting his head up. “Tell me what is wrong, John.”

He closed his eyes, pulling back from her touch. “There’s nothing wrong. I just don’t feel good.”

She shook her head and withdrew her hand. “You are fine. Come along.”

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going to his sentencing hearing.

Or maybe his execution.

It was so empty. No one was at the receptionist desk, there were no patients waiting, and the air even felt cooler from the lack of bodies to warm it. Talia glanced around in disinterest.

“I will be back in a few hours.”

“A few hours? My sessions are only like 50 minutes.”

“The doctor said these types of sessions take longer, that is why the time was moved.”

Longer. A few hours. A few hours in the dark. His good knee went weak, and he faltered on his crutches. No. He wasn’t going to let him put him back in the dark like that, or, well, he’d get him to listen to him first, he’d get him to let him make a phone call. A couple hours of Talia being gone was actually a blessing; it meant she’d probably leave the building, go off far away, and he could get someone here. Fuck, he’d call Gordon himself.

He just wouldn’t go back into the dark. He waved Talia off. He’d get out of here, he wouldn’t see her again, except maybe as a witness at a trial.

He might not see Josh again unless it was under the same circumstances. Christ.

He had to get out of there no matter how much that hurt.

Talia waited until he was opening the door, heading into the office, before she turned around to leave. Dr. Crane was waiting, seated patiently at his desk.

“Have a seat, John.”

The curtains were already drawn. A shiver trembled up his body. He felt caught, like he’d let himself climb right into a web, tucked the silky strands around his own body. One day, he was going to fucking learn not to fall into traps.

Unless this one killed him.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” He kept the waver out of his tone, gripped his crutches tightly. Fuck, he wasn’t going to get reduced down to what he was before. The lights were on. The lights were on, and he was ok, that spray wasn’t filling his lungs, he wasn’t being attacked by creatures from the dark, and the lights were on.

“Suit yourself.”

The lights weren’t on anymore.


	33. Chapter 33

His body went rigid, and he gripped onto his crutches like a lifeline. “T-turn it on. Turn it the fuck back on!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, John.”

“Stop, stop; I just want to talk for a minute. Just for a fucking minute!”

“I don’t generally prefer when my patients talk, to be honest. I’ve always felt it was the most boring part of the process.”

There were footsteps close by, and he swung his hand out, hitting only air. He cursed when it set him off balance, made him nearly topple. “Keep the fuck away from me!” He was hyperventilating, blood rushing to his head, pounding in it.

There was a dry chuckle by his ear, and he heard the hiss of aerosol. He covered his mouth with his hand, tried not to breathe it in, but his panting breath drew it into his lungs.

“Three hours. I upped the dosage. I’m interested in seeing what that will do.”

It was too dark, too dark to see anything, but then how could he see all of these monsters in front of his eyes, crawling towards him? He swung his crutch at them. The ground shifted under his feet. It rolled, everything was moving, nothing was solid and he was falling, falling, and he couldn’t open his mouth. It was locked up tight in terror as he crashed down onto the hardwood floor. A pained cry finally tore from his lips when pain ripped up through his leg.

“STOP IT!” he screamed, words torn loose from his lips now from the pain giving his mind the tiniest ray of clarity. Could people die of fear? His heart was thundering, and it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He could barely breathe.

“It’s an interesting thing, John,” Dr. Crane’s voice spoke, “what happens to the body when the fight or flight response goes too far, when adrenaline is pumped to the heart for too long, and, well, the mind and body can only take so much…”

“Stop. God, please stop. You’re going to fucking kill me!” he sobbed out, scraping his nails against the wood, trying to drag his body away from his voice. Where was the door? Where had the fucking door gone? There were whispers in his mind, the skittering of tiny clicking legs across the floor, crawling closer. Tiny creatures that wanted to climb all over his body, burrow into his flesh, into his eyes. They weren’t real, they couldn’t be real, but they were going to do it anyway, and he knew he would feel every second of it.

There was a sound coming from the corner, a soft drag of something against the floor. There was a voice coming from the shadows, low and raspy.

“He knows, John; he just doesn’t care.”

“Wh—”

There was a sickening thunk, metal connecting with bone and flesh. He flinched back from it. Everything was happening fast. There was shouting, yelling. Light was there suddenly, but not enough of it. Fingers were pressed to his lips when he yelled and twisted.

“I have you, John. Do not be afraid,” Talia’s smooth voice rushed into his ears. The light burned, and the creatures creeping close to his skin shredded to bits in its path. Through it he could see the doctor, on the floor, laid out, barely more than a shadow with twitching limbs. Over him loomed a creature of pure rage, growling, worked into a frenzy as it swung its weapon down again and again, black shadows of blood flicked through the air, dripped down from the bat. Everything was distorted, too little light, too much terror; nothing made sense, and everything was horrifying. He wanted to close his eyes, but he was too afraid to shut them and see only dark again.

There was a gurgle from the body, and the swings came harder. John felt a warm splatter against his cheek; he bit down on the fingers that were near his face still. “John, it is ok. Bruce is taking care of it.” Talia pulled her fingers from his mouth and wiped his cheek. “You should have told us, John. He could have killed you.”

_______________

She shook her head, displeased at John’s wild eyes, pupils blown wide with fear. This would have been much simpler if John had simply told them. Researching and spying on Dr. Crane had been a difficult, if not interesting, task. Deeply suspicious things were found, but nothing could be absolutely confirmed; Bruce was such a stickler for such things. A patient or two disappearing under mysterious circumstances had certainly piqued his interest though, along with John’s behavior. They had thought to wait, but with how John had been that morning, so fearful though he would not speak to her about it, she’d expedited their schedule, had texted Bruce to be at the ready before she had driven off with John.

It had not been difficult to slip into the doctor’s office; after all, Talia had already done so earlier to plant a listening device into one of the lamps. Bruce had merely waited in the small supply closet with his weapon of choice. She had despised the idea of leaving John to go into the office when he had the look of a lamb led to the slaughter, but if he would not admit it, then Bruce would need more proof of what was being done.

The office was empty, and she used it to her advantage, went to the secretary’s desk and, after applying gloves, clicked through the computer’s system to erase John’s appointment for the day. Clearly, she needn’t have bothered. John was not even scheduled for an appointment. She pursed her lips at that and waited just outside of the office door watching her phone. The fact that she heard nothing made it all the more suspicious. The large purse she held on her shoulder was filled with supplies they might need, and she wished she was the one taking care of this little problem, a feeling of angry possessiveness coiling in her heart at the idea of someone trying to strike fear and terror into the heart of her little brother.

Now, she slowly ran her fingers through John’s hair, feeling the sweat there, the coolness of his skin. “He wished to kill you, John; he has done so before, with other patients.”

His eyes locked onto hers, some small measure of lucidity seeming to return to him. His mouth opened and it seemed he was trying to form her name on his lips as his hands flew up to latch onto her arms. She shushed him lightly, bemused at her own softness. Her family made her act ridiculously at times. “You are safe, John. Just let Bruce finish.” She glanced over at her brother, in time to see a final blow to the doctor’s skull, hear the soft cracking noise, and its splitting like an overripe fruit. Bruce always did have a taste for the extreme. “There. It is over. We will clean and be gone from here.”

He whimpered when she stood, but it could not be helped. They might have several hours to clean, but blood was tricky, and her brother was messy when he let his rage go. He was returning to himself, though, his eyes going from flickering flames to smoldering coals as his fury leaked from him. She set her purse on the desk and pulled out the carefully folded up plastic sheeting. Together, they rolled up the cooling body along with Bruce’s bat. The blood took much longer to clean up; they were hurried along by the soft whimpers from John, still lost sounding in his loneliness and fear.

“What did he do to him?”

“I’m not sure, some kind of drug, a spray. I heard him delivering it.”

“Such a thing is possible?”

“I doubt it’s exactly on the market.” He picked up a small canister and tucked it into his pocket. When the room was righted and the only things seeming out of place were John curled on the floor and the wrapped body not far from him, they removed their gloves, Bruce the plastic poncho and hood he had worn, and they, too, were wrapped in sheeting. It was rare for either of them to kill without the site being prepared in advance, and so they were extra careful in the endeavor. She slid her keys from her pocket. “I will bring the car to the back doors and pop the trunk, come out in five minutes with the body. Be ready.”

_______________

Bruce made a noise of agreement and knelt down beside John. His arms were filled with the warm ache of exertion; it always felt right and good when it came from the kill. His back was sore, twisted feeling and tight, and that was less good, but it would be fine later with rest. “John?”

His body jerked and his arms snaked out to cling to him like they had Talia’s. “Don’t, don’t leave again.” His words were a desperate whimper. He was not himself at all, not snarky and sarcastic but flustered, uncertain, all of those qualities that Bruce had come to know and enjoy as what made John were not there in that moment. “I-I don’t want to be alone.”

He rubbed a thumb over his brow. Talia would understand. “Come on, John, can you stand?” He helped ease him up to stand. The crutches were too much for John to handle at the moment, and his arms ended up mostly around Bruce’s neck, making walking slower, but he was able to walk with him, guide him slowly to the car with his crutches tucked under his arm even when his John's face ended up buried into his side.

“I SAID the body first,” Talia hissed softly, glancing around the empty back parking lot.

“Couldn’t leave him alone, Talia,” he explained, and helped lower him into the seat, getting a soft cry when he pulled out of contact. “It’s ok, John; Talia is here.”

Talia sighed, her ire lessening as she took John’s hand and rubbed it. “Be fast.”

The doctor’s body was lean but muscled; it was a strain on his back to bend over and drag it out the door, but it was the cleanest way to go about it, to make sure that the plastic remained tight and nothing dripped out. He gave the office a final once-over to check for any final signs of a struggle, but was satisfied nothing was out of place. Talia watched him in the doorway and signaled that the coast was still clear before he carefully maneuvered the body into the trunk.

He was going to be put out if it leaked in there.

He slumped into the back seat and Talia looked him over. “You swept the room again?”

“Of course.”

“And you are certain you missed nothing?”

“Talia, it’s FINE,” he replied sharply, knowing it was underserved, but he felt on edge even after having just made a kill. John was not well, and he could hear his shallow breathing.

“He will be ok, Bruce,” Talia replied patiently, starting the car and driving off.

Bruce nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d be damned if he was going to lose another member of his family.

The ride was silent save for the broken, fearful noises that left John’s mouth.


	34. Chapter 34

“And neither of you thought it was, perhaps, in the best interest to tell me what was happening?” Tommy was clearly displeased as John’s body was half curled in his lap, his fingers digging tightly into the muscles of Tommy’s outstretched legs as though he feared he’d lose the body that was securely under him. Barsad was lying down with him, arm wrapped around his waist and holding him close, still making soft, comforting noises and rubbing John’s back. They’d gotten him to calm, finally, but his body still twitched on occasion and his skin still looked pallid.

“We couldn’t know what was going on for sure, Tommy.” Bruce pulled the canister out of his pocket and placed it on the dresser. “I’ve never heard about anything like this.”

“We merely knew that some of the doctor’s patients were disappearing, and that John did not wish to go to his appointment; hardly much in the way of evidence,” Talia defended them.

“Yet you felt it wise for you to go prepared to take life.”

“You have always trusted my instincts, Tommy. It is best to be prepared.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “From what we understand, this substance was used on him before, so it should wear off as it did then. “

“It seems like Crane was using it to induce heart attacks in his patients, or trying to, anyway. He liked the idea of scaring them to death.”

“Two steps forward, one step back,” Barsad’s words were spoken with regret from his place holding John.

Tommy nodded. “It is a setback, but consider it like a slip, brother; something to learn from. John now knows we will not allow him to be harmed.”

“And that there are people out there much worse than us,” Bruce pointed out. That was the point. That was what made it ok to release all of the anger that bubbled inside of him, churned in his veins and made his blood froth with it. There were people who killed for sport, people who killed parents, left children all alone in this world. They were there to make it right. It was a calling. He had abandoned much of their creator’s teachings, but that… that was the most important thing.

“And that Bruce will bash their brains in with a bat in front of him.” Tommy shook his head.

Bruce managed to look slightly shamefaced. “We were going to abduct him, take him to the cave, but…”

“Your anger consumed you,” Tommy finished for him, but he wasn’t judging him for it. “Because it was John, and he was in danger. It is understandable.” He looked him over. “You are in pain; you should rest your back.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Talia was already working his shirt buttons open, and he tended not to argue when she was undressing him.

“Come lie down with us, brother,” Barsad spoke, placing a kiss to John’s forehead. “Let Tommy see to your back.”

He relented and stretched out carefully. Tommy’s strong fingers pushed expertly into his spine and he groaned lightly, relaxing into the bed. Talia was beside him, sliding her shoes off and slipping down so she lay out with him. Despite the circumstances, they could all feel the completeness of the action, to have all of them resting together in bed and perhaps even John was soothed by it because he finally began to blink his eyes more, lids lowering heavily with exhaustion.

“Can you sleep for me, John?” Barsad stroked over John’s cheek tenderly.

John stuttered out a soft no and Barsad sighed, kissed his forehead. “Please, you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Tommy’s hand left his back and Talia’s took his place, digging her nails into the muscle. He glanced over and saw Tommy’s hand card through John’s hair. “John, you are safe. We will not let you be harmed.”

John took a deep shuddering breath and his muscles seemed at last to give in, go lax. He finally closed his eyes and fell asleep so quickly it was almost alarming. Barsad was clearly relieved, and continued to hold him close. “Oh, John…”

“He will be ok, lambkin,” Talia assured him. “He will most likely feel fine in the morning, fine and embarrassed over his actions.” She paused, then as an afterthought added, “And most likely horrified over our own.”

Bruce made a noise of agreement at that. “We didn’t exactly plan a slaughter in front of him. I’d say with luck he won’t recall that part…”

“But he seems to have the luck of a black cat,” Tommy finished for him with a soft snort. “We have noticed.”

Bruce shared a chuckle with Talia before they settled in more to rest. Each of them listened closely to John’s breathing for signs of distress, taking turns sleeping to make sure there was always someone awake if needed. They each took more then one turn, holding him close, soothing him through a nightmare and rocking him back to sleep.

_______________

“I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine. I don’t want to talk about it. I never want to talk about it to anyone EVER again.” He curled in on himself, feeling Josh’s hand rubbing the back of his neck. He shivered. He’d finally woken up, but he still didn’t feel quite right; better, but not right. He still heard the occasional whisper, and his heart thudded erratically. There were no shadows, though. He wasn’t seeing things, and the room was bright; even with the sunshine, they’d left the lights on for him.

Also, the bed was really crowded.

It was probably late afternoon, but none of them had left it. Tommy was sleeping lightly, leaning against the headboard, his hand curled around John’s arm. Talia had a laptop settled on her lap as she typed away at something. Bruce was spooning Josh, which John was trying not to be too weirded out by while he curled up with Josh. He’d gotten used to Tommy and Josh, but Bruce curled up like that around Josh, his face pressed against the back of his neck… it was new.

Also, he’d just seen Bruce bash someone’s brains in last night. He was really trying so very hard not to think about that, or picture it, or hear it again in his brain. It was almost good that he’d been near out of his mind during it. Not that he ever fucking wanted to feel like that again. His brain still hurt inside; everything hurt, honestly. He was hoping his leg wasn’t fucked up. Talia told him she’d made an appointment for the next day, telling the doctor about his fall and saying it needed to be checked out to be certain nothing had shifted.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it, sweetheart.”

“And I don’t want to go to a fucking shrink ever again.”

Bruce snorted. “I’d say that’s more than fair.”

“And I want a goddamn pony.”

“Shetland or Welsh?” Bruce sat up suddenly.

“John, don’t; he’ll actually buy you one, and I’ll make you ride it,” Josh warned.

He stilled and looked at Josh, then snorted and couldn’t help but share a small smile. “I’d make you ride it, too.”

“You aren’t ever getting me on one of those things. They’re too wily.” Josh kissed him and it made some of the wrong feeling of chemicals and fear fade out, but in its place there was so much confusion.

“I… I just.” He swallowed hard. They’d saved him. They’d fucking saved his life, and he’d been trying to betray them. He didn’t know what to feel. Killers, saviors, family, nothing was fucking making sense anymore. He’d tried to get away, and look what it had done to him. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to get away.

Josh held him closer, patiently waiting for him to finish, to get his wits about him. Well, he’d be waiting a long time for that one. “Head hurts,” he finally finished quietly. It was honest, anyway. It felt like his head always hurt anymore. Anxiety, Dr. Crane told him. Jesus, Dr. Crane had to have a worse headache than him right now. He bit back a hysterical giggle at the thought.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Want me to get you some aspirin?”

He shook his head. It never seemed to help. What did help was when Josh rubbed his scalp with gentle fingers like he was now, when he shifted them around on the bed so that he was between Bruce and him and he could feel them so warm against him; it was so comforting that it just wasn’t fair. The constant clicking of keys stopped, and Talia ran her hand down his leg in a slow, soothing pattern. Tommy’s hand was still on his arm, and he felt enclosed, but he didn’t feel like he was suffocating from them. They were offering their strength to him and, God, he needed it. He needed it. He was so tired of holding them at a distance, of feeling weak and confused.

“Just…” Just what? Just don’t kill when I’m in the house, so I can pretend it’s not happening? How could he even pretend that was ok? They were killing bad people, though, weren’t they? Dr. Crane… fuck, John couldn’t exactly say he was sorry he was dead, but it wasn’t ok for them to just kill him.

Why was he even pretending to be a good person at this point?

It was just so fucking frustrating. He felt like such a child when angry tears ran down his cheeks and he buried his face against Josh’s chest, dug his nails into his skin. Part of him wanted this. He couldn’t keep lying about it anymore. Part of him wanted this to just be ok.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, sweetheart. We’ve got you.” And they did. They really did have him, and that scared John because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be let go anymore.

_______________

His leg was ok. X-rays were showing up fine. He wasn’t sure he was ok, though; he felt pretty numb, to be honest. Talia ruffled his hair after the appointment. They went to get ice cream with Bruce, and the three of them ate in the car when John said he didn’t really feel like being around a bunch of people.

“Is he killing someone?” he blurted out the question halfway through his waffle cone—rainbow sprinkles because Bruce seemed to find it amusing and he was the one who did the ordering—even though he honestly didn’t want to know.

“Tommy? No, not today; this was an unexpected appointment,” Talia answered honestly, offering a spoonful of her blueberry ice cream to him. He was too curious not to taste it. “Tommy is much more disciplined. He times his kills carefully, like I do.”

He was both sorry and relieved he asked.

“How… how often do you?” He suddenly realized he’d seen Bruce kill, heard Tommy doing it, found Josh’s body, but nothing from Talia. He realized it was probably insanely stupid to be asking. Don’t go looking for answers you don’t want to find.

Her eyes studied him a moment then she shrugged lightly. “It depends. I am very picky about what I am looking for. My quarry is the most difficult to get away with, so it takes time, much time to arrange things. Usually, it is every few months for me, sometimes even as long as a year, much longer than my brothers. I have much more patience.”

“You also keep them alive for days when you catch them.”

“Bruce.” Talia gave him a sharp look, and John felt a brief wave of unease at that. He really shouldn’t have asked. “John, we will always answer your questions, but you should keep that in mind; we WILL always answer your questions, and some questions you may not actually want the answer to.”

“Right.” He shut up and ate his ice cream.

For about five minutes. John’s problem had always been that he needed to know things. He needed to solve puzzles and have the information. It was going to get him killed or make him go insane one day.

“You… really keep them alive for days?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ, why?”

“It is what I prefer. We all have our own methods and are driven by different feelings, as I am sure you have noticed,” she spoke seriously, didn’t talk down to him about it like he’d thought she might, so it didn’t feel like she was treating him like a child or sheltering him. “Myself by the suffering the victims endure, Bruce by his rage, Tommy purity, and Josh his darkness.”

“I don’t… I don’t ever want to see it again… or hear it.” His voice cracked a little. “I can’t do that again… I’ll try to stop you if I do. Can’t… can’t Tommy just not do it at the house?” God, that would make it so much easier. Josh went out, couldn’t Tommy?

Bruce’s hand reached to rub his shoulder. “Maybe that could be arranged, John, and we didn’t actually mean for you to see Crane, that wasn’t intentional, John, honestly.”

“John,” Talia sounded pleased. “I believe you are implying now that you will not try to stop us otherwise, or attempt to leave us if that can be arranged?”

He had been sort of hoping it wouldn’t be pointed out. He stared down at his ice cream, didn’t answer. It wasn’t a yes, but it sure as hell wasn’t a no, and they both knew it. He felt like he was giving up something huge by not saying anything, by not denying it. Talia leaned in and brushed her fingers through his hair, kissed his cheek, and maybe he felt like he was gaining something huge, too.

“We will speak to Tommy,” Talia promised.

“She will. If anyone can convince him, it will be her.” Bruce gave her a softer, fond look.


	35. Chapter 35

Tommy furrowed his brow. “I do not like this, pretending we are not what we are. How will this help anything?”

John was sitting down on the couch, staring at his hands. He had not been the one to ask for the concession, but it was clear he wished it. It was tempting, he could admit that, but surely it could cause discourse down the road. It was better not to pretend that nothing was happening.

“It will help him.” Talia leaned over him, wrapped her arms around his arms and kissed the top of his head lightly. “And I know you want to help John, don’t you?” she teased softly. It was enough to make him shift slightly in discomfort. It was no secret that he found himself growing more attached to John. He was fiery, but sweet. It was clear he needed attention and a firm hand. It was more than a temptation to have John in their bed, to see him stroke himself while Tommy was buried deep inside of his brother. He wished to reach out and replace John’s quick, eager fingers with his own broader ones and pump him to a slow, steady climax that left him breathless. He knew well now how John looked when he reached his completion. He had more than enjoyed working his fingers into him, guiding him through his orgasm and watching the way his eyelashes fluttered and his hips stuttered as his tight heat rippled around Tommy’s pistoning fingers.

John was skittish, though, and Tommy would never force him into such a thing. He knew that it must be as it was with Barsad when he, too, had been skittish for them. John would have to choose to come to them.

_He heard the door creak open and glanced over, pausing his actions, feeling Bruce’s fingers scrape over his bare scalp when he stopped the sucking motion he had been doling out with the tip of his brother’s cock between his lips._

_“Why did you…” he stopped when he spotted what Tommy had seen, Talia back from checking on Barsad. He was with her now, standing behind her, practically hiding with his face tucked against the back of her neck, bare and nervous._

_He patted Bruce’s thigh and slid him from his mouth, hearing the soft groan of protest and licking the sticky fluid from his lips._

_“Why are you here, Barsad?” He held up his hand to still him when he saw how his brother jumped with uncertainly and looked about to bolt. “I am not saying you should not be. I am asking you WHY you are here.”_

_Barsad swallowed and looked at Talia, Bruce, Tommy and the confusion cleared off of his face after a moment. “I… I am here because this is where I belong, brother.” Tommy nodded in satisfaction._

_Bruce sat up and smiled, the sort of smile that only their family was privileged enough to see from him. “Come to bed with us, Barsad."_

_Barsad padded softly to the bed, and Bruce reached out for his hand, pulled him down to lie down on his back while he ran a hand down his chest, his strong fingers feeling out his brother’s skin with a look of curiosity. Barsad shivered as Bruce trailed his fingers across each rib, down his sides, exploring and learning his brother’s body. He finally moaned softly, his lips parting and some of the nervousness leaving him._

_“He was pleasuring himself,” Talia remarked teasingly. Barsad’s cheeks pinked slightly in mortification, and he ducked his head._

_“I-I am sorry.”_

_“There is no shame in desiring to be with your family, Barsad.” Tommy reached out with Bruce, running a finger against a bit of slick skin, a splash of his brother’s come still on his belly. He rubbed it into his skin and Barsad saw, covered his face and groaned. Tommy simply chuckled. “We have heard you, before, and wished you would join us instead of losing yourself into your palm.”_

_“You are trying to embarrass me,” he accused softly. Tommy chose to further explore his brother’s skin with Bruce. Talia shed her robe and crawled into bed with them. It was clear Barsad had just spent himself recently, but with their touches, with Talia kissing his lips, tasting him and stirring his passions, he began to stiffen for them. He took the weight of him into his hand, hearing him gasp and feeling the hot flesh twitch with excitement between his fingers._

_“What do you like, Barsad?” he questioned as he circled around his brother’s length, giving a slow downward stroke. His hand glided easily over the soft skin there, and he took a moment to admire his brother’s length, how this simple touch was causing him to quickly swell further, and how his slit was exposed and already beginning to pearl with precome when the foreskin slid back. Barsad’s hands flew up to grip his arm, his head dropping back, and he moaned in satisfaction._

_“I—” he hesitated. “I like that, brother. I like Talia’s hands, as well. Beyond that… I do not know.” He seemed shy to admit it._

_“Barsad, you mean you haven’t?” Bruce tilted his head curiously._

_“When would I have? I have not, I was not… darkness took me young,” he explained, looking away from them. “It was safer to be close to no one.”_

_“Our poor, lonely, lamb.” Talia kissed his forehead. “It is better this way, anyway. My first was with Tommy, as well. He took good care of me, and we will all take good care of you.”_

_“We will find out what you like together,” Bruce assured him as he ducked down and pressed his lips to Barsad’s nipple, mouthing over it wetly. Tommy felt his cock jump in his hand and, well, their family could be playful at times. They made it into a game, to find all of the sensitive skin on Barsad’s body, tickling, teasing it, soft licks and wet kisses all across his flesh that had their brother trembling under them, so unused to such attention on his body._

_“You have to tell us, Barsad. How will we know what feels best if you don’t tell us?” Talia scraped her nail across the tip of him and he keened, arched up off of the bed._

_“E-everything. I can’t. I can’t.” He shook his head, tried to explain._

_“Talia, you’re going to make him break,” Bruce chuckled._

_“I like my men a little broken,” she confided, as if it were a secret. It most certainly was not, and Bruce snorted and told her so. Tommy merely shook his head and kissed along Barsad’s jaw, feeling the soft, constant noises of want vibrate against his lips as he worked up to kiss his mouth._

_“Are you ready, my lamb?” he asked against his open mouth, feeling Barsad nodding and wrapping his arms around his neck._

_“Please, please yes, brother,” he begged breathlessly, knowing precisely what he was asking for._

_Bruce already had his fingers inside of Barsad, who had opened beautifully for them, his hesitation in joining their bed having had nothing to do with fear of penetration, obviously, not when he had seen the slick on Bruce’s fingers and spread his legs invitingly. Now his hips rocked towards Bruce’s fingers, and Tommy could see how stretched and open he was._

_“He is so meek in it, Tommy; you should have him ride you, let him learn to seek out his pleasure,” Talia suggested, and Tommy could see the merit in it. Barsad was so willing to give himself to them, and that was wonderful, but there was such a point as too much. Barsad would always give, and he had to learn at times to take or he would lose himself in them._

_“Up, brother.” He kissed him once more and lay back._

_“You could show him how it’s done.” Bruce kissed Talia’s shoulder, caressing his hands down her arms._

_“I feel as though you do it better than me even when you are greedy for it,” she shot back, but pushed Bruce down beside Tommy. “Watch, Barsad. The angling is different, but you can still learn from it.”_

_Barsad nodded and watched intently, his eyes going instantly to the soft, damp curls at Talia’s womanhood. Tommy smiled at his curiosity. He would find out how it was to enter another soon enough, and Talia was sure to be the one to claim his first in such a manner. She took Bruce’s length in her hands, rubbed it against her wetness, sighing at the contact. Bruce groaned, his hands settling on her hips, thumbs stroking along her soft skin. She eased him in, her mouth dropped open, and a small choked noise left her mouth when Bruce gave a little smirk and tugged her hips down, putting an end to her slow descent in favor of spearing into her with one quick push. “B-Bruce!”  Her nails dragged down his chest in reprimand, leaving red streaks down to his belly. “How is he to learn? Now surely he will think Tommy is going to kill him on the first thrust.”_

_Bruce merely gasped at the scratches, clearly only enjoying them, and brought a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down so that he could nuzzle at her breasts. “I’m sure he knows Tommy is much more patient than I am.”_

_Barsad squirmed as he watched them, his eagerness clearly growing, but he nodded. “I am aware. You really wish to try it… like Talia is? I will certainly be no good.” He watched with uncertainty as Talia’s hips rocked and she rode Bruce with a graceful passion that had them both soon forgetting they were supposed to be setting an example and not losing themselves to pawing at one another and fucking with wild abandon. Children._

_“You will be wonderful inside, Barsad,” he assured him, helped to guide him over him, petting his shaking thighs until he took a steady breath and nodded his readiness. It was slow, pleasurable work to hold Barsad open, to feel his uncertain hands take hold of him, unable to resist a few curious strokes that made heat pool further in his belly. He was already eager to join with his brother; they all had been waiting for him._

_The first press was tight despite Bruce’s careful workings, and Barsad whined softly above him, trying to settle himself down, but he could not relax properly, and his noises became frustrated when Tommy’s cock merely pushed and nudged against his ring of muscles._

_“You have to relax. Take a long breath, blow it out slowly.” He rubbed his flank, trying to sooth him._

_With the slow exhale, he felt his brother’s entrance relax just enough, and he pressed up into him, groaning as he finally breeched the overwhelming tightness there. He felt it clamp down around him, and heard the soft whimper against his ear as his brother pressed flat against his chest and continued to slide down him. His nails dug into his shoulders tightly, and Tommy suspected he would be wearing bruises that Barsad would apologize again and again for, but that felt good, now. Barsad felt so good inside, just as he knew he would. He wanted to roll him and rut into his brother until he screamed and spent for him, but he felt that he was hurting, now, and rubbed the back of his neck as he trembled above him._

_Bruce and Talia had satisfied themselves and were now back to paying attention to Barsad. Talia slid from Bruce and draped herself along Barsad’s back, humming softly against his ear as he worked to breathe._

_“I am ok,” Barsad assured shakily. “It is not as bad as one might imagine.”_

_Bruce laced his own hand with Barsad’s, held it in his firm grip. “Don’t. He’s huge. I wasn’t exactly new to it, and I had trouble.”_

_Barsad nodded, giving up the pretense. “Ow,” the word came out slightly plaintive._

_Talia kissed his ear. “Poor boy, you will adjust. We’ll make sure you find pleasure in it.”_

_“I know you will, sister.” Barsad tilted his head, sighing when she nibbled at his lobe, making him shiver and relax more until Tommy felt the vice-like grip around him seem to relax ever so slightly._

_Talia coaxed him into rocking his hips in small, uncertain shifts at first, and Tommy found himself having to grip down on handfuls of blankets so he didn’t work to drive deeper. Barsad was so tight and hot around him, perfect in all of his halting movements and earnest trying. He could see on Barsad’s face the moment his actions began to mix with pleasure, how his shaky, uncertain breaths evened out and his look turned to one of cautious curiosity. On a particular thrust, when Talia helped him shift angles and sink himself down again, he cried out suddenly and took on a look of wonder._

_“B-brother…” the word sounded choked from him._

_“That’s it, that’s good.” Talia left his hips and rubbed her hand down his spine, instead. Bruce reached to stroke him as he dripped down onto Tommy’s stomach, and Barsad seemed lost to it suddenly. His head dropped back and he rocked faster. Tommy felt him slide along his cock, his cries coming louder as he plunged himself down again and again. Sounds of pleasure mixed with soft whimpers of pain, but he did not slow. He keened suddenly, his back bowed, and Tommy felt him coming, splashes of hot wet against his chest and stomach._

_He felt his own peak close and rolled them carefully, beginning to slide out of Barsad, knowing he must be sore and sensitive, too much so to use further, and he would be more than happy to rub against his slick thighs to reach climax. Barsad’s legs suddenly twined around him, his eyes hazy but watching him._

_“Don’t, don’t leave; I want you still.”_

_How could he argue with such a request? He pinned his brother’s hips down to the bed, finally able to thrust into him as he wished. He was perfect, pliant but still so tight. His breathing was still coming to him in pants and his face twisted slightly from the pain of overstimulation when Tommy’s cock caught against his prostate, but he refused to let go. He clung to him with every thrust until Tommy growled, spent himself, hearing Barsad’s soft sigh of satisfaction at his actions. They kissed and rested together until Barsad was ready for more._

Still, even if it might help John settle faster, he was wary about this idea. He wished John to be comfortable with them, but it felt like this could bring them trouble later down the road. More trouble was the last thing their family needed. John needed a more delicate touch than most of them, though, and he found that hard to remember at times. He looked at him and how he was wringing his hands together tightly, now. He had been through so much psychologically and physically over the past few days, over the past few months. It was a wonder he was holding together as well as he was. Perhaps it was best to give this a chance, at the least.

“John, look at me,” he ordered as he stood from the chair and walked to the couch, tilting John’s head up to make their eyes meet. John’s wavered then flicked up at him. “If this is done for you, you will stop trying to leave, understood?” Bane did not prefer change. He liked his basement, and would dislike taking his kills elsewhere even if Bruce’s cave was a rather fitting area for them. Tommy recognized that if Bane was to be giving up something in this, then it was only fair for John to make this concession, as well.

“I—” John faltered. “I can’t just promise that.”

“You can. It is a simple thing to promise. You belong here, John.” He ran a hand down his cheek, felt his jaw clench, the muscle twitch. His eyes closed, and there was tension there across the brow as John struggled to make the choice. He looked near pained when he finally nodded tersely.

“Ok, ok. I won’t. I won’t run away, just please, please don’t let me see it? I can’t take it, Tommy, I really can’t.” His voice was small, wounded. He had experienced far too much over the past few days. Perhaps it was wrong to take advantage of his more fragile state, but John was a spirited boy, he might never reach such a conclusion otherwise.

“Very well. We have an agreement.”


	36. Chapter 36

Barsad breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled John close to hug him, feeling the slight shaking in his body. He knew how hard this was. His sweetheart was a fighter. It was so hard for him to give in to something like this, even if all of them could see that part of him wanted to stay. “You did so good, sweetheart.”

John shook his head, clearly not agreeing, but he held onto him. Bruce and Talia looked pleased; they both gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving the room along with Tommy, most likely to go discuss the logistics of Bane sharing the cave. It would see a lot more use with three of them placing their kills there. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Let me take back what I just fucking agreed to,” John muttered softly against his chest. Barsad ran his fingers though his hair. It was getting a bit shaggier since John hadn’t exactly been to the little barbershop he usually went to for a clip.

“You made a promise, John,” he reminded him gently.

“I sold my fucking soul is more like it. I’m such a fucking coward.” The words were spit out with such venom towards himself that it made Barsad’s heart ache to hear them. He pulled John back and kissed his forehead.

“Never. It’s going to happen either way, John.”

“And I’m willing to pretend it’s fucking not. What kind of fucking hypocrite does that make me?”

“You’re not. They’re not good people, John. I promise.” He held him close again. “I promise they’re not. When we purge, it is always for a reason. It’s people like that doctor of yours, people who have hurt others. If it helps, I could tell you about those I choose, the reasons wh—”

“NO. Jesus, the last thing I want is to know anything about them, Josh.”

“Alright, then I won’t say a word. Will you trust me, though, that these aren’t people that deserve your pity, John?”

“You, I can’t just… you’re, you’re a murderer, Josh.” John closed his eyes tightly, forcing words out that he’d never actually been able to say out loud to him. “You’re a fucking murderer, and I’m not, but I might as well be because I can’t fucking lose you, ok? I feel like I’m going to break inside whenever I think about it.”

“Shh, sweetheart.” He wiped dampness from John’s eyes. “You’re not like us, John. Nothing that happens here happens because of you. Just because you live in Gotham and crime happens doesn’t make it your fault, does it? It doesn’t make you a criminal.”

“If I see some little old lady getting mugged and don’t do shit, though, I’m an awful person,” he spat out in return.

“I promise not to kill any little old ladies, John.”

“…Fuck,” he snorted with sudden laughter and hit at him. “Don’t! You can’t just do that.” He bit back a giggle and Josh smiled.

“Sorry.”

“You’re totally not.”

“Not if I can see you smiling, sweetheart.” He cupped his cheeks and kissed him slowly, relieved when John sighed softly against his lips and leaned in to return the kiss, muttering that they were both fucking nuts as he pushed closer, leaned in as much as his cast would let him. Barsad was ok with being declared ‘fucking nuts,’ though, if John was going to be ok.

“How about we go out for a date, hmm?” he suggested with a light kiss to John’s jaw. “Just the two of us.”

John stared at him, his eyes lighting up briefly, and then looking uncertain. “Are they going to let us do that?”

“There is no reason for them not to. It would be nice to have you all to myself for a while.” He smiled at how hopeful John looked. It would indeed be wonderful to go out again like they used to. He knew Tommy would allow it if he promised to be careful. John had promised to not try to run, and he needed to be given a bit of trust to show that he would not break that promise.

He went to the kitchen to speak with them, and endured some playful teasing to enjoy his date night and be home with John at a reasonable hour. Tommy more seriously told him to be careful, and Barsad assured him that everything would be ok. Talia tossed him Bruce’s keys, and she got an extra kiss for that, much to Bruce’s protest.

“Don’t scratch it.”

“I will certainly not. I cannot say the same about John if I let him take the wheel.”

“Hey no, no, not with the cast!” Bruce called out as he left the kitchen. He merely chuckled. John’s cast was truly too unwieldy for him to drive with, but his siblings were not the only ones who could tease.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”

John looked surprised, like he hadn’t really expected them to be able to go out. Barsad felt a little badly about that. He should have worked something out sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to overtax John with his leg. He should have kept in mind how antsy he could get and despite going out with Bruce and Talia they could have been having their own outings. He was going to fix that.

“Where to, then?” he asked when he had made sure John was settled and he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I could really use a fucking drink.”

Barsad laughed and took them to their favorite bar. They spent the night there, squished together in a booth, John’s leg carefully balanced onto the adjacent booth as they sipped beer, ate burgers, and talked. The tension eased out of John, and by the end of the night they were playing darts, smiling together, teasing one another and making silly bets about who would win. Even when he helped him into the car, the alcohol making the crutches a bit harder to maneuver, John seemed more relaxed.

“I… I really missed that,” he admitted, his hand sliding over towards him. Barsad took it and held it fast.

“Me, too. Let’s go back to having date night, hmm? Once a week, you and me.”

John closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “Yeah, you and me,” he agreed.

He took John home. Bruce and Talia were spending the night which meant Bane had joined their bed. He could hear the sounds of their passion as he tucked into bed with John, worked him up and carefully took him, watching with delight as he gasped and shuddered under him, their own noises joining those of their family.

_______________

“He is in a much better mood this morning,” Bruce observed. “Someone got lucky.”

“Do not act as if you could not hear them as well as we could,” Tommy commented as he stood and dressed. They could hear the light murmur of conversation through the wall; John did truly seem to sound better. They had stayed up waiting for them to come home. Tommy had felt begrudgingly like an over worried parent doing so, but Bruce and Talia had seemed much the same, so no one commented on it. They had heard the breathless noises, the soft laughter and panting through the walls. It was good to know that John was feeling better and that Barsad was joyful about it, as well.

Bruce merely chuckled from his position on the floor, carefully performing his morning exercises. Talia had left early on business. She was drawing closer to her own prey, luring it. Tommy wished he had time to watch her. She was breathtaking in her work. They would be busy today, however. They would be moving Bane’s tools to Bruce’s cave for use. It would be simpler to purchase new items, but Bane was… sentimental about such things at times. They had come to an agreement the previous night that everything would be moved for now, and it was best to get it done right away.

The noises turned from murmurs to moans. Clearly Barsad wasn’t going to be of much help. He exchanged an amused look with Bruce as they went to the basement to pack together.  

_______________

John panted wetly against the pillow. One would think the same position would get boring with the cast, but he loved how Josh felt spooned behind him, holding him close and rocking slowly. He felt so warm, cared for, and it didn’t hurt how Josh was twisting his slick palm around his cock, giving it just the right amount of pressure before he jerked and he came in his hand with a moan. Different positions were great and all, but when Josh could still make him feel that good using the same one over and over while he healed? Well, he clearly wasn’t missing out on much.

“Good?” Josh whispered questioningly against his ear, and John gave a small, lazy smile in return.

“Mhm. Good.” He felt Josh slip out of him then heard him getting rid of the used rubber before spooning back against him, rubbing his arm. He kissed at the finger Josh trailed over his lips, sucking the tip into his mouth and biting it playfully, tasting sweat and some of his own come on his fingertips. They should really probably clean the sheets. Josh, Josh should clean the sheets, while John pulled the broken leg card and took a nap. That sounded much more appropriate.  

“I’ve got to help Bruce and Tommy move some things today, ow!” Josh laughed and tugged his finger out of his mouth where John had possibly bit it in reprimand. “Rude little thing.” He tugged playfully at his ear.

“You’re warm. I want you to stay and nap with me.” He pulled his arm around him more to keep him in place.

“Right after you made a big old mess of these sheets?”

“I want you to stay and nap with me after you change the sheets, and hey, part of it is your mess, too!” He made a face even knowing Josh couldn’t really see it when he was behind him.

“Nope, mine all got caught up in that rubber; you’re the one making everything sticky.”

“Jerk,” he muttered, then reached back to run his hand down Josh’s side. “You know… if you’d fuck me bare, we could both be making a mess on the sheets.” He smirked slightly at the short little intake of breath rushing against his neck, and couldn’t resist adding, “You’d be dripping out of me right now.”

He could feel Josh’s groan vibrate through him and he grinned.

“Not fair, sweetheart.”

“You’re the one who won’t.” Which was REALLY the unfair part. Josh had finally explained his reasoning, that they all handled so much blood and he didn’t want to risk giving John anything from that, but come ON, what were the chances, really? Unless Josh or one of them was going around drinking it, oh God he hoped not, or rubbing it around in cuts, gross, he was really willing to take that risk. He wanted to feel it a little more than he cared to admit, honestly. He wanted to feel what it was like to have Josh’s bare skin sliding into him, to know when he came it was really inside of him, and to feel his seed leaking out of him.

He also more than wanted to be able to do the same thing to Josh.

“I know, I know. We’ll talk about it, ok? Have a serious talk,” Josh promised, and John’s stomach fluttered a little at the idea that maybe that could be happening sometime in the near future. “Tonight even, if you want, but for now I’ve got to help them move stuff out of the basement.”

“Why—oh.” He nodded a little. He didn’t want to think about it. He had made his bed, and he was going to lie in it. God, he didn’t want to think about it. He’d felt so good last night, going out with Josh like it was one of their normal nights out, coming back and being together alone in bed, tasting each other, feeling each other. He hadn’t felt so good and almost normal since he’d been here. All it had taken was a little ignoring. Just a little ignoring of the fact that they were going to, on occasion, go out and kill people, nothing much. “Yeah, ok. Wait, where is it going?”

“It will be taken to Bruce’s place. I’ll be gone for a little while.”

“Wait, are you all going? Am I going to be alone?” That was… fuck, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been alone.

“You can come with us, if you’d like, but I think you’d rather rest.”

He nodded a little, thinking about it. He couldn’t believe they were willing to trust him like that. One promise and they were going to leave him to his own devices? He would have lied a lot earlier if he had known that. Except, he hadn’t been lying when he’d said it, he’d meant it. He just, he’d tried, he’d really tried to do the right thing, and it hadn’t worked out so great, and now he was doing the selfish thing because giving up Josh and having it blow up in his face was something he could only take once. Now he was just going to be selfish and keep Josh. “I’ll stay.”

Josh made him stand up while he changed the sheets. He considered taking a shower, but he didn’t feel like making the effort at the moment. Truth be told, he kind of liked the slick, loose feeling he still felt from Josh having just fucked him open and he didn’t mind just kind of lying back and relaxing like that; showering would just get in the way. He pulled Josh down for a long kiss, trailing his good foot up his leg playfully, just in case he could possibly persuade him to stay in bed with him. Josh tickled his toes, getting a very manly squawk out of him before he left with a wink. “If you need anything, my cell phone is on the dresser. Their numbers are listed.”

_______________

It took some time to strip the basement entirely and carefully pack each item neatly in boxes. Organizing and keeping each thing neat was very important to both Tommy and Bane. Eventually, Barsad came down to join them, looking disheveled and slightly sheepish.

“I am sorry to have not been here when you started.”

“You sounded a little busy.” Bruce looked up from a box he was taping shut and winked.

“Perhaps a little,” Barsad agreed pleasantly. “He is feeling much better and, well, he is a frisky one at times.”

Bruce chuckled and tossed the roll of tape over so that Barsad could use it. Soon the boxes were stacked, and they worked together to load them out into the truck, making sure Bruce took the lighter boxes despite his protests. The room was quickly bare, no tools along the walls, no tarps, only the naked bulb, his bag, and the large laundry sink remained, even the tub had been removed and dragged up to the pickup truck.

He was suddenly struck with a strong sense of melancholy. This had been where Bane made his home for several years now. They had always been wanderers by heart, but when settled down, he found that it felt strange to suddenly uproot. He felt Bane push slightly at him, and he ran a hand slowly down the concrete wall. Barsad walked closer, placed a hand on his arm.

“Are you well, brother?”

“He is being…” he paused to consider the correct word. “Sentimental. Some time is needed. I will be along shortly.” Barsad left him alone with a squeeze to his arm.

“Bruce and I will secure everything in the truck ourselves. Stay here, take the time you both need.”

When Barsad left, he took Bane’s mask from its bag and slid it over his face, giving him the time he needed.

_______________

John could hear them moving things down in the basement for a while, the loud scraping of boxes and something heavy being pushed up the stairs. It was weird. He’d been understandably terrified of the basement since he’d been dragged down there. He’d given it a wary look each time he’d walked past it. He sometimes got flashes of all of what little he’d seen down there in his terror. An old tub, flickering lights, power tools that had nothing to do with building carefully lining the walls.

Was it really empty and gutted out now? He couldn’t help but wonder about that. He could hear them leaving out the front door now. They were probably going to be gone for a couple hours. How insane was it that he was thinking of going and having a peak?

It’d be different, though. He wasn’t getting dragged down there. The lights would be on. There wouldn’t be anyone down there, either, and frankly, he was tired of letting his fear get the better of him. Fuck Crane and everything he had done to him. He wasn’t going to let that fucker win. He’d never been scared of this bullshit before any of this, and he felt like maybe he had to do this. Claim a bit of his bravery back.

He sat up and tugged on some shorts, at least, because he wasn’t going to go around naked even with no one home. He made his way to the basement steps. The door was already open. He could see the faint light from the bottom. It wasn’t dark. He was actually feeling ok. It would just be empty down there and he could put it behind him, see it gutted and not treat the basement door like it was the boogeyman anymore.

It was a little tricky and not exactly the most elegant of movements to start moving down the steps. He had the brief thought of just how dumb he was going to look if he managed to snap his neck the moment Josh left him alone for five minutes, but he was already down the first few steps and he wasn’t going to scamper back to the bedroom with his tail between his legs.

It was quiet as he worked his way down the steps, nothing but the soft hiss of a radiator somewhere down in the basement. He kept his eyes on the stairs, putting all of his focus on them. He wasn’t going to fall, and it felt easier that way, to be able to not look just yet. He just took the stairs, one at a time, until he reached the bottom.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly another upload tonight guys, we'll see! ;)

Bane sat on the cool floor as he contemplated the empty basement. Much time had been spent there, many purgings of victims, cleansing of his family; it had become home. His brother was perhaps right that ‘sentimental’ was the correct word for how he was feeling at the moment. He ran his fingers along a crack in the floor, feeling the exposed, rough stone there. He heard someone descending the staircase and looked up to welcome one of his brothers.

He then tilted his head in curiosity. John. He had not yet seen him in person. The boy was staring down at the steps in heavy concentration, carefully working his crutches over each one. He had not even noticed his presence yet. He stood up silently and waited, unable to hold back a soft chuckle when John finally looked up, gasped, his hand shooting out to grab onto the railing.

_______________

“Tommy? What the fuck, Jesus!” he swore, feeling his heart doing its best to leap out of his throat and do a tap dance on the floor. “Fuck.” He’d really thought everyone had left, and now he felt damn ridiculous going down here. And Tommy would probably laugh, and he’d feel even dumber, and what the hell was on his face? He stared when he really got a look at him. Leather straps, metal and tubes blocking his mouth, his nose; it was bizarre and, frankly, more than a little scary. He shifted nervously. Why had he wanted to come down here, again?

“What’s going on, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes crinkled like they did when they smiled and he walked over. His posture was different, more rigid, formal. He looked bigger, and he already always looked fucking huge.

“It is good to finally meet you in person, John.” His voice sounded warped, strange behind the mask. Tommy reached out and took hold of his cheek and chin in a firm grip that made John feel uncomfortable in how unfamiliar it seemed. Tommy had touched his face countless times by now, and it felt nothing like this did. It was possessive, rougher, like he was trying to grab John up. Apparently, his dick had not learned that this was not actually a good thing, because it twitched in his shorts.

“T-Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head, his other hand coming up, and he brushed the back of his curled fingers gently across John’s temple. “I am Bane. Tommy does not prefer to mention me. He did not wish to frighten you, but you are brave, are you not, John?”

Well. Well, shit. That was sure something there. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

Bane chuckled softly, and his fingers drew a light pattern over his forehead. “It is… difficult to explain, I suppose. We share a body, one might say.”

Suddenly Josh wasn’t looking so crazy.

“Why have you come down to my dwelling?”

John’s eyes widened. This had spiraled out of control faster than he could have ever imagined. “I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t know. I just wanted to prove that I could do it.”

“Ahh,” Bane’s tone sounded approving. “You wished to face your terrors. Bravo, John; very brave, indeed.”

His hand left his face and he gripped his shoulders instead. God, it was so strange. He wasn’t Tommy. He fucking wasn’t Tommy at all, but he had Tommy’s body, Tommy’s face was hidden behind that mask.  He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t terrified right now. Honestly, maybe his brain just only had so many things it could be afraid of. The lights were on, and Tommy wouldn’t hurt him, would he? He was really starting to believe that, crazy as it sounded, and Bane was what, part of Tommy? He should be safe. Still…

“You’re not going to kill me, right?” It paid to make sure, at this point.

Bane’s breath hissed out from the mask, a laugh. “I do not wish to harm you. I wish to know you as I do all of my siblings.”

He nodded warily. That was sort of fair? Maybe Bane was like a locked up kid in Tommy’s mind; he just wanted to be out for a little playtime with the big kids. He wasn’t going to voice that thought out loud.

A locked up kid who had just guided him against the wall and was rubbing his hands up and down his chest, oh Jesus. He shuddered, mouth dropping open. Bane’s hands pawed at him, pinched his skin and tugged it, twisted it, making him yelp and arch out from the wall, feeling scorching heat run down his belly as Bane’s blunt nails scratched over it. _Know him as he did all of his siblings_ , it suddenly clicked exactly what Bane meant by that when he felt his body being crushed against the well, Bane’s arousal pressing tight and hot to his thigh. Oh fuck, how had he gotten himself into this?

The mask pressed cold against his neck. He jumped and should have protested or pushed away, but Bane was sliding his hand into his shorts, wrapping it around him like he owned his cock and John cried out, instead. His hands smacked back against the wall sharp enough to sting. His crutches clattered to the floor, damn useless things. His cock only got a rough squeeze, enough to make him whimper and feel himself leaking out way too quickly before he was cupped down lower, fingers trailing along his sensitive sack, making him suck in a sharp breath.

The air was musty down here, but with Bane so close, pinning him against the wall, he was soon being assaulted by his strong scent, like Tommy’s, only even that seemed different, more primal somehow as his breath hissed out, his eyes focusing intently on his reactions. John’s good leg wobbled and only Bane’s pinning him against the wall was keeping him from falling over from the sensations of being fondled and the loss of his crutches.

“I will have you here. It seems only fitting. A gift to me from yourself, a thank you for my giving up this place I call home.”

The hand slid further down, fingers wiggled between his legs and slid into him, getting a strangled cry. Thank fuck he was still slick and loose from Josh. Did Bane know that? Did Bane even care? He didn’t seem surprised. The pair of his fingers buried into him without giving him a chance to even think about how much this shouldn’t be happening. They twisted deep, not giving pause, exploring him more roughly than he’d ever felt; Josh was always so gentle, Tommy was careful, and neither were like this. It didn’t hurt, but it was borderline. It was like Bane was forcing the pleasure out of him. A third finger pushed deep, the trio of them crooked and rubbed, he saw white for a moment when they drew against his prostate and the needy whine that left his mouth was beyond embarrassing.

“Eager for it, as well, I see.” Was he teasing him? He didn’t know and he couldn’t clear his head enough to ask. He clenched down tight on those fingers, though; they were thrusting so fast, deep plunges that filled him up with their thickness and made him ache when they left, stroked across his pucker then pushed in to stretch him again. He bit his lip as his hands went from the wall to Bane’s arms.

“T-Tommy—Fuck!”

“Bane,” he was corrected with a sharp twist of Bane’s wrist, and John cried out just as sharply.

“B-Bane!”

“Better.” He sounded pleased and pulled his fingers out of him. “You are wet enough, I think.”

“Oh fuck, you better at least be putting some spit on that,” he argued when Bane pushed down his pants, his erection thick and ready. It wasn’t like John hadn’t seen it, seen it inside Josh enough to know that even if he was lubed and stretched inside Bane should definitely be going the extra mile here. Actually, they shouldn’t be doing this at all, but Jesus, he felt so good, those fingers had gotten him so worked up he felt like he was dying for it.

Bane raised an eyebrow at him and held up his palm. Right. A few strokes later and Bane was wet with his spit. He felt himself being turned around, his chest scraping against the concrete. He shuddered at the sudden cold against his heated skin while Bane tugged his shorts down just enough to expose his ass, his cock still trapped in the confines of soft cotton. He pushed against him, their bodies flush, the mask against his ear.

“I would rather have you facing me, John, your body wrapped around my own. Alas, with your injury we will simply have to make do.”

“Oh fuck, oh f—” He got a thick hand clamped over his mouth at that.

“Such language.”

He whimpered and tugged at his hand. He couldn’t really expect him to keep quiet in a time like this, could he? He struggled until Bane’s free hand went to his hip, kept him trapped tight in his grip, and he was pushing in, stretching him wider, forcing him open, bare, hot skin pressing into his hole, slick with spit and precome. His brain possibly melted. He felt so full, so fucking hot and full, and desperate noises pushed out even past Bane’s hand, noises that would have consisted of “pleases” and quite some colorful cursing had they not been blocked. The moan against his ear was low, distorted.

“Mine, John. You are mine.” He snapped his hips forward and John wailed, bit at his hand as he thrust into him. So full, he couldn’t believe how stretched open he felt, how deep Bane was inside. Rough thrusts drew whines from his chest with each plunge into him. It felt so fucking good, better than it had any right to feel. Hot pleasure was pooling down his spine, trembling through his limbs and he screeched against Bane’s fucking hand, bit down harder and tasted his skin when his orgasm ripped though him without warning, the suddenness of it making him practically see spots as he thrashed in Bane’s tight hold.

Bane made a pleased noise, his mask rubbing along his neck. He’d be kissing him without it, John realized hazily. God, that had been good. He felt fucking spent and limp against the cool wall. He whimpered lightly when Bane’s cock ground roughly against his prostate, over-frayed nerves sending very conflicted messages to his cock. “Very good, John.”

John moaned. He’d always been such a fucking pushover for approval. Bane’s hand finally released his mouth, and instead two fingers slid between his lips. He ran his tongue over them, sucked them wetly as he whined. It was too much, Bane wasn’t stopping; his thrusts were so perfect, rough and fast, but he felt raw, drained, and his cock ached in the confusion. He pushed a little at the wall to try to move him, try to adjust so he wasn’t hammering directly at his prostate with each stroke, but Bane might as well have been concrete itself. He was trapped, trapped there to be used as Bane pleased. If Bane wanted his over-sensitized prostate to be getting the brunt of his thrusts, then that was what was going to happen and that should absolutely not have made his fucking traitorous prick twitch and contemplate the logistics of a second round.

John really hated his body sometimes, and wished it would just for once, FOR ONCE, listen to him.

“B-Bane,” he tried to protest, but Bane’s fingers were making it more than a little difficult to talk the way they explored his mouth. He drooled around them a little, classy, and had to swallow. Too much, too much stimulation, he was going to fucking die before Bane came. He was relentless, he hit so deep inside. Josh could hear the heavy breathing against his neck now, could feel the sweat between them and he was getting hard again even though it was near painful the way his cock was swelling, trapped and sticky already inside his shorts.

Bane’s hand left his mouth and wrapped around the damp cotton, stroked him through it. John wanted to fucking cry. His body writhed as it struggled between getting away from that too-sharp touch and desperately humping into it. “I can’t, I CAN’T!” He shoved back, but Bane just drove into him harder, stroked him faster.

“You will.”

He could feel his eyes getting wet. He really couldn’t, except his body wouldn’t stop fucking TRYING. He was hard in Bane’s touch now; he felt like he was burning up, each stroke of his cock, each thrust of Bane into him. He wound tighter and tighter, denying the orgasm that was building even when it snapped out of him, made him scream and throb with a fiery sort of pleasure and left himself dripping out into his shorts again. Bane drove into him, pressed him so tight to the wall that it punched the breath out of his lungs as he felt warmth flooding him. It made him shiver, made some primal part of him twitch in satisfaction to finally feel that. Bane was right. He was his. He’d laid a claim on him, in his own way.

He didn’t understand all of that. He felt way too groggy and fucked-out to overthink it, but he knew that it wasn’t Bane trying to take him away from Josh, it was more a fucked-up welcome to the family. He sagged against the wall, grateful that Bane was holding him up, his arm wrapped around him to secure him. When Bane pulled away, he could feel just how roughly he’d been used, and how slippery it felt when Bane’s seed leaked out of him and down his legs. Bane rubbed his thighs, smearing it into his skin before he carried him back upstairs, which was for the best because John was never going to walk again.


	38. Chapter 38

Bane laid John out on the bed, cleaning the boy up with a damp cloth. He looked to be quite spent. Bane himself was feeling more sated from their coupling. He took a moment to sit beside John, tracing his fingers over his lax mouth, pleased at the way his lips parted slightly. Tommy was being quite insistent. It was endearing how he almost felt worried. He relented and slid off the mask, letting him have his way.

Tommy sighed and leaned down to kiss John’s forehead. He seemed to be ok, not scared as he had feared. It was sometimes hard to read other people’s emotions as clearly when he was tucked away, and though Bane had said he was fine, he had needed to see for himself.

“Are you ok?”

John nodded, his eye cracked open to look up in confusion. “…Tommy?”

“Tommy,” he agreed, patting his cheek. He seemed to be fine.

“…You are seriously fucked up.”

He snorted. He would be just fine.

“Perhaps even that is an understatement. Are you hurt?”

“No. I mean, I’m going to feel that for like a week, but no… fuck. Just… wow.” John stared up at him with wide eyes, clearly trying to grasp what had just happened. Tommy wished him luck; he often was not able to understand it, either.

He sighed and lowered himself down beside John, resting a hand over his chest when he realized the action would not be rebuffed. John’s heart was still thumping faster beneath his skin. He trailed his fingers over the flesh that covered it. “You look as though you have questions.”

“Yeah, and I’m kind of scared to ask because I know you’ll tell me the answers,” John admitted. His hand came up and wrapped around Tommy’s thumb, playing with it a little as he seemed to be in thought. “It’s Bane who does it, isn’t it?”

“The killings? Yes, for the most part. I have done them before, but only out of necessity. I do not have the same… needs as he does.”

“How come I haven’t seen him before? Does he only come out then?”

“We have come to a personal agreement. The mask separates us; it is his face as this face is mine. He is satisfied, for the most part, with remaining underneath until it is time to purge someone.”

John shuddered a little, squeezing his thumb tightly. “Jesus.”

“I doubt you will see much of him. I thought you might not meet at all, to be honest. If you do, again… I would ask that you treat him respectfully. He is not as… lenient as I am.”

“Are you saying he’s dangerous?”

“He is very dangerous, John, but not to those we consider our family.”

John nodded quickly, a flash of nervousness across his face now. “I can behave, kind of. Well, I mean, he didn’t seem upset with me.”

“He did seem to rather enjoy you, yes,” he noted wryly, then chuckled at the slight flush over John’s cheeks, his actions now seeming to just sink in for him.

“Fuck, Josh is never going to let this go.”

He moved over John and pressed their lips together briefly. “Is that so bad, John? You cannot deny that you are attracted to me. I also feel connected to you.” He patted his hand over his heart. “You are my brother, my family, it is silly to push against the feelings you so plainly let show on your sleeve.”

“I do not,” he muttered, then leaned up to kiss him eagerly. Tommy chuckled and returned the kiss, petting down his chest and sides until John’s breathing evened out, becoming more relaxed as they explored each other’s mouths leisurely. He knew his brothers would have left without him by now, knowing he could catch up with the car if needed. He found that perhaps spending the afternoon in a dedicated exploration of John’s body might be a more worthy pursuit. To his bemusement, he was fairly certain Bane would agree.

_______________

Tommy’s fingers crept down his belly, making him jerk and hold back a giggle, pushing at his arms. “NO tickling,” he huffed, and totally didn’t squeal and bite down on his tongue when Tommy wiggled his index finger lightly into his belly button. “DON’T, jackass!”

Tommy wasn’t daunted, and soon John was laughing breathlessly, smacking at his arms and trying to kick at him with his good leg. “DON’T, DON’T, DON’T!” Tommy’s fingers skimmed along his body, the back of his thigh, up his sides until he even teased at his armpits. He yelped and jerked his arms down tightly to trap them. “Fuck!”

He could hear Tommy’s rumbling laughter deep in his chest when he finally relented and his touch went from ticklish to exploratory, while John went from shaking laughter to just plain shaking as Tommy’s fingers rubbed into his skin, smoothing over red marks from Bane’s scratches and tweaking at his skin. It was still mindboggling to think that there were basically two people living in Tommy’s brain, and more than a little scary. Jesus though, he could feel the rawness in his ass from Bane, and, well, his limbs still felt weak and tingly. He’d sure tortured him, but not in a way that hadn’t been more than a little amazing.

His finger’s latched onto Tommy’s scalp as he mouthed wetly over his nipple, sending a hot quiver through him when he sucked there for a moment, lapped over the nub and caught it between his teeth, clamping down lightly. The bite drew a small whine from his throat and he shook his head.

“Gah, Jesus, if you’re thinking of doing shit, I can’t, fuck, I REALLY can’t.” He was only one guy. Between Josh the night before and that morning, and then Bane hammering into him to force a second go, he was sure he just didn’t have it in him. Positive, in fact. Maybe he should have been thinking more about the fact that the only reason he said no to sex with Tommy was that he was too spent for it. There were probably more reasons to not have sex with him, but they were starting to seem a lot more distance and less reasonable.

Tommy’s eyes twinkled slightly in amusement. “No one said you had to, John. Touching does not always have to be simply a means to an end. Though I will say that you seemed to rather enjoy having an orgasm forced out of you.”  

“Oh God, not fair, not fair at ALL.” He bit down on his lower lip, feeling Tommy’s breath ghosting over his spit-wet skin, heating it, making his already tender nipple tighten under the attention.

“Do your touches with Barsad always end in your climax?” He sounded curious as he left his chest, kissed down his side. His lips brushed over him like silk, and he kissed into every dip of his skin, crooked teeth biting, grazing against him and leaving a hot trail that made him feel shivery. His strong hands took hold of his leg and drew it up slowly, bending his knee until it was touching almost flat to his own chest, exposing the back of his thigh.

“Y-yeah, when they’re like this, they do. When he’s got his MOUTH on me, they do.”

“That is not my intention, John. I wish merely to learn the secrets of your body, to know each sensitive spot you have, every place that will make you ache with need.” He ducked down and nuzzled at his thigh. It fucking tickled, especially as he kissed a slow trail down to just below the curve of his ass. He willed his body to relax, but since when had his body ever listened to him? Those lips were so warm and wet, and he could hear Tommy’s breathing, feel it against his skin.

Tommy seemed to be gauging each shiver and intake of breath from John until he seemed to finally settle on a spot that he wanted, one that had drawn a particularly loud giggle when he’d tickled over it earlier. He pressed his lips firmly there, hollowing his cheeks and sucking wetly, making a pleased sound when John couldn’t help arching and moaning at that.  Tommy sucked and nipped at the spot, lavishing attention on it in a way that made his whole body want to coil up and possibly explode. He was way too tired for this kind of treatment. He could hear the lewd suck of Tommy’s lips as he sucked the blood up to the surface of his skin, probably giving him a hell of a hickey in the process. Oh God, his cock fucking hurt at that. He really couldn’t.

Mercifully, or perhaps not so much, Tommy finally relinquished the bit of skin in his mouth, blowing a cool stream of air of it. His fingers clutched at his shoulders, and to his absolute horror he was getting hard again, slowly, and more than a little reluctantly.  He shoved at his shoulders, stammering out his name. It took a little more effort than he felt comfortable admitting.

A thumb dug into the now deep red spot against his thigh, and he felt a sharp pang there that traveled through his limb and ran up his spine. “Do you really wish me to stop?”

“Fuck you. Oh, fuck you,” he hissed venomously.

“Well?”

“No,” he admitted with a groan of defeat, hating the soft laugh that earned.

Tommy was relentless. He found every spot on his body, every little bit of skin that lit his nerves on fire, from the tips of his toes to the curve of his ear, and bathed them with attention, sucked at them, bit them until John felt like a puddle on the bed, fucking goo, for Christ’s sake. Where the fuck was he finding these spots? How the hell was he finding these little places on his body that John sure as hell didn’t know about? It hurt, oh God, it hurt so badly, but he felt so good. Josh sometimes played like this, but John always stopped him quickly, getting way too worked up and wanting to get to the good stuff to ever indulge in this sort of game for so long. Maybe he should have let Josh go on a little longer, because this was some pretty good stuff right here, too.

Tommy paused on occasion, and John could see how wet and red his lips were looking from lavishing John’s body with attention. He asked if he was ok, if he wanted to continue, his voice thicker each time with desire and John broke, whined for him to shut up and kiss him and maybe just fuck him because he was sore, so sore, and he really shouldn’t be putting anything else in there today, but oh, he was feeling like he needed something, felt open and needy again.

“No, John.”

“Fuck you, fuck you, just DO it.” He rolled his hips upward invitingly as much as his cast would allow.

He made a noise of relief when Tommy helped roll him onto his side, finally.

Tommy wasn’t pushing INSIDE of him, though. He spooned up close behind him, his arms wrapped around him, enveloped him in his strong grip. His cock slipped between his thighs, just above his cast, brushed slippery hot against the bites and rosy-red blotches of skin that Tommy had sucked at. He moaned against his neck and thrust slowly, leisurely rutting between John’s thighs, refusing to push into him.

“Come on, come ON, Tommy.” He wasn’t sure he was above begging at this point. He almost didn’t care if he came from it; he just needed to feel it.

“You’re too sore, John. I will take you as you wish, later,” Tommy tried to reassure him.

John shook his head. “I’m not. God, I’m not too sore,” he promised, mortified that his words sounded slurred, unable to help pushing back eagerly. It felt good even if it wasn’t near enough get him off, not with how spent his body really was.

“You are. Relax for me.”

He bit back a frustrated sob when he realized this was really all he was getting. He actually wasn’t going to come while Tommy gently used him and made him feel so good, like his body was fizzing with need when it should be spent. Tommy pet him, whispered how good he was, and that didn’t help, that didn’t help at all, it just made pleasure curl in his belly more, made his limbs feel all trembly. He thought about trying to pump himself to climax, but he just knew that just wouldn’t be enough, not with how he felt, how tired he was. Then Tommy was moaning, biting the back of his neck lightly and John felt hot splashes between his thighs.

He whined, begged softly; he apparently really wasn’t above it. Tommy kissed at his brow, wiped the sweat away from it. “Later, John, once you have had rest.”

Fuck rest. He voiced the opinion, and Tommy merely snorted. He wanted to get angry, but he was too horny and tired to muster the energy. Yearning or not, he really was exhausted, and he felt his eyelids getting heavy even as his dick ached.

Tommy kissed his ear, and right as he was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he could hear a soft whisper there. “If you ask me tomorrow, John, after you have rested, I will take you until I am dripping from both of your holes. I am certain Barsad would be happy to assist in the endeavor, or perhaps he would like to lick you clean when I am done.”

  
Jesus Christ.


	39. Chapter 39

Barsad slipped back into the bedroom, stripping off his shirt to shower. The moving of equipment and its arranging had taken quite some time and energy, especially with just Bruce and himself. He had worked to make sure Bruce’s back had been strained as little as possible. They had waited for some time to leave, and he had finally gone to check on him, leaving the house with a smile on his face when he heard the soft moans that were being emitted from the bedroom. Clearly his brother was busy, and if his sweetheart was warming up to the idea of letting himself go and enjoying Tommy like it was clear he would like, then he didn’t want to spook him by dropping in during the middle of it, tempting as the idea was.

Instead, after the sweat and dampness of the cave’s moist atmosphere clung to their bodies, he had playfully pushed Bruce over the computer desk the man had set up there and slid into him, enjoying how their moans echoed through the cave. Now he wished to shower the dirt from his body, but he could not resist sneaking a peak and smiling at how sweet John looked being held by his brother. When he curled up clean beside them, John’s body shifted towards him, seeking his contact, and Barsad was quite happy to settle in close with them to sleep.

 Sometime closer to morning, he felt the soft push of his sister’s bare body to his back, and he smiled drowsily when her arms wrapped around him. Her nails ran lightly up his chest.

“Good hunting?” he whispered softly, getting a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Very good,” she agreed. “Bruce will be here soon. Have they finally slept together?” Her voice was fondly exasperated as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“I was not here, but it is hard to imagine an alternative when I can see Tommy’s seed on his thigh.”

“Messy; that’s going to be fun to clean off his cast.” Bruce’s voice was barely a whisper as he closed the door behind him. Barsad could just barely see him in the glow of the nightlight, unfastening his suspenders and unbuttoning his cuffs, slowly stripping off the trappings that he wore as part of his mask as Gotham’s golden child. He always looked very handsome in them, but Barsad preferred when he would often steal and slip into a pair of Tommy’s sweats and a thin cotton shirt, left his hair un-gelled and loose as he spent the day with them. It was a sign of how comfortable and safe he felt when he entered their home. No hiding, just the familiarity of family.

Of course, there was something to be said for now, when he stripped down and wore nothing at all. He felt his lips kiss his cheek in greeting, another given to Talia then even John, as hidden away as he was between Tommy and Barsad’s bodies. He patted Tommy’s shoulder then slid into bed behind him, slipped his arm under Tommy’s, spooning against him. Talia had often teased that Bruce was the only one who didn’t look ridiculous holding Tommy since they were much closer in mass than the rest of them.  They both seemed to find the accusation amusing, but Barsad was secretly pleased that both of them, so strong, had someone who could hold them, too. This was wonderful, to have them all together in bed, bare and resting, and he smiled at the warmness against his skin and in his heart as they lay together as family.

_______________

 “Josh. Josh. I’m pretty sure I’m surrounded by a bunch of naked people.”

“Pretty sure you are, too, sweetheart,” Josh agreed, sounding half asleep. John had found him burrowed against his chest, dozing, when he’d woken up, and had shook his shoulder when he’d glanced around and realized there were way too many bodies on the bed with way too little clothes.

“Jo-o-o-o-sh.” He pushed his shoulder plaintively, scowling at the little chuckle that earned. His boyfriend was being useless, honestly.

“Shhh.”

Useless.

He huffed slightly and shifted his body as much as he could with being practically squished to pieces between Josh and Tommy. Tommy, who was the biggest asshole ever, by the way. He didn’t even have the decency to wipe the come he’d left on his thigh, so it stuck together grossly to the cast on his other leg and damn it, when he moved too much he felt the pull of soreness in his ass, the hot ache of bruising and redness all over the different parts of his body Tommy had mercilessly attacked. He couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure he had a mess of hickies all over his skin, marking each spot he’d been sucked at.

Claiming marks.

_“You’re mine.”_

Oh.

BIGGER than the biggest asshole ever. He realized that he had totally just been in the middle of some sort of fucked up sibling rivalry war in Tommy’s brain with Bane, each of them treating him like a toy to fight over and leaving their mark on him in their own way. He didn’t even know how to respond to that. Tommy’s hand pressed flat to his chest when his moving around apparently woke him.

“Good morning, John.”

He was about to yell at him, well, quietly yell since Josh had apparently gone back to sleep, when he felt a hot lick of Tommy’s tongue against one of the bright bruises he’d left on his neck, making his nerves light up with interest. His eyelids fluttered and possibly the only word that came out of his mouth was “Guh.”

Tommy hummed lightly in approval and guided him onto his back, looking over his body and seeming way too pleased with his terrible work before he gave him a light kiss.

“Are you hurt?”

“Guh?”

He sighed as Tommy traced his fingers over his skin. Josh was curled warmly against his side and, well, it was nice. Was it ok to admit that? That it felt really, really nice? Not even like in a need-sex way, but just in a homey way, how he felt when Josh and he curled up in his apartment, tight and close. This felt like that. Maybe he could just give himself that, let Tommy kiss over his ear, tease him quietly about how they were too tempting the way they stuck out while Josh sighed and nuzzled against his shoulder. He’d pretty much sold his soul, right? Maybe it was wrong not to reap the benefits.

“You’re going to be the one cleaning the jizz off of my cast,” he pointed out. He felt the curve of Tommy’s smile against his ear.

“That seems fair.” He sounded pleased, and John let his mind wander a bit, let the early morning slowly creep into a late one when Talia woke and leaned over Josh to kiss both of them good morning. He only hesitated a moment before he returned it. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He wasn’t going to run anymore. He’d promised, and if he wasn’t going to run away anymore, if this was his life now, then there were things growing in his heart that he couldn’t just shove aside anymore.

Talia ran a nail down his cheek. “Did you enjoy Tommy inside of you, John?”

“Bane,” Tommy corrected, and Talia tilted her head in consideration of that and laughed throatily.

“Poor boy.”

“You have no idea.” He shook his head.

“Oh, we all have a very good idea,” he heard Bruce’s voice suddenly from behind Tommy.

“Bane is our brother, too, John. He is just as much a part of the family, even if we do not see him as often.”

He looked to Tommy at that who tilted his head slightly in agreement. God, his family was crazy.

He stilled and felt a lurch in his heart when he realized his own thought. His family.

“You are quiet,” Talia observed, playing with the hair by his temple.

“Just thinking.”

“He is a thinker,” Josh spoke up suddenly, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “So intelligent.”

He shook his head, too used to Josh’s common compliment; he wasn’t. His grades in school and now the academy told him that well enough. He was average, fuck, below in more than one subject, and it felt like he had to put twice the effort into passing a written exam than his fellow classmates. He wasn’t smart, just too stubborn to quit. He pointed it out and got a sound of disapproval from Josh.

Tommy patted his side. “The commissioner saw something in you, did he not? A gift. You simply do not test well. Testing speaks little of someone’s intelligence. I failed all of my studies.”

“No way.” He shook his head. He’d heard Bruce and Tommy talk. He wasn’t buying it. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what he saw. Not like it’s going to happen, now.” He sighed a little.

“I did, indeed. Bruce also did poorly in school.”

“Miserably,” Bruce said cheerfully, sitting up so John could see him finally, leaning over Tommy and looking curious. “And Talia didn’t even go to school, she learned from her father, and why won’t it happen now? You just have to finish up at the academy and you’re in.”

“Because… I’m not going back to the academy,” he pointed out the obvious.

He wasn’t sure why there were so many surprised noises and looks surrounding him.

“Sweetheart, why would you quit? You’re so close.” Josh’s hand rubbed down his stomach. “I was under the impression that you could go back once your cast came off.”

“Uh. Yeah. Before I got kidnapped? I sure can’t go off and become a detective now.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. So what if it was pretty much the only thing he thought he might ever be good at? It wasn’t like he really needed it to make a living now. Tommy and Josh didn’t exactly have jobs and that was all fine.

“Why not?” Tommy asked curiously.

“…I’m living in a house full of serial killers,” he spoke slowly, in case they somehow missed the point again.

“And this does not need to affect your future job ambitions. There are many cases, hundreds even, in the city that do not involve us in any way.”

“You really want me to go be a cop? Doesn’t that, like, go against everything you stand for?” He honestly couldn’t believe they’d just accept that.

“On the contrary; police are a necessary element of any city. I have a moderate respect for the uncorrupted ones,” Tommy admitted. “If it is your desire to become part of them, then you should pursue it, John. We will of course be behind you in it.”

Oh. He’d never expected that. He’d never thought they might want him to be able to have a life outside of what was going on now. He’d thought this was it, and now he was being given a chance to be his own person. Could he really do that? He tried to picture going out as a rookie every day to work his shift and then coming back to them, knowing that he was living with people who did worse things than he’d probably ever arrest someone for. If he made detective like Gordon said, it would even be more conflicting; what if he got put on a case they were involved in? Hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already led them off the trail of Josh.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said. He really would. He had a lot of thinking to do.


	40. Chapter 40

**Bruce Wayne Takes Young Lover on Whirlwind Trip to Unknown Destination.**

“I fucking hate you.” He smacked the newspaper sharply over Bruce’s leg.

Bruce made a confused noise and popped his head out from underneath the car, his fingers covered in old oil. Josh took the paper out of John’s hands and broke out into a laugh, so now he hated them both. They had been changing the oil in the car, apparently they generally did all of the auto repairs and maintenance themselves as none of them liked the idea of the risk involved with putting their vehicles into the hands of others. It made more sense than John cared to admit. They transported victims and God knows what else in them; even if they were clean, there was still such a thing as possible traces of DNA that they’d never really be able to know if they’d gotten completely cleaned.

John had been in the kitchen with Tommy and Talia, reading the newspaper while they played mancala together with the smell of baking bread filling the air. They’d offered him a turn, but he honestly wasn’t much for board games, so he’d turned them down saying he’d only play if they broke out Clue sheerly for the pure irony in it. He was sad Josh had missed the joke because they just stared at him for a few moments before Tommy ruffled his hair fondly.

He’d spotted the headline a couple of pages in along with a tiny blurry picture of him and Bruce seated beside each other. Talia had been cropped out. He’d stomped—well, walked out in a huff as much as crutches and a cast would allow—to the garage to yell at Bruce.

“Apparently your absence has been noted, brother.” Josh tossed Bruce a rag, and when he cleaned his hands and took the paper he was laughing, too. John groaned.

“I am so fucking _not_ your young lover!” They really weren’t. They hadn’t fucked or anything, and he wasn’t THAT young. They’d just kissed, made out sometimes, and Bruce had been sleeping in the same bed with them for the past few weeks along with Talia. A vacation they’d called it, a chance to bond. It had been nicer than John cared to admit.

Bruce tsk’d lightly. “Newspapers never lie, John; too much integrity.”

Josh laughed and wiped a streak off Bruce’s cheek. “It’s very true, John. I have seen the photographs, as well. If there is something you wish to tell me…”

“…This isn’t the first article is it?”

Bruce laughed, and he hit him harder.

“Hey! Even I don’t own the press, ok?” He smiled, though, handing the newspaper back. “They’ll back off eventually. They get bored very easily.”

“It is NOT funny. How many—no, you know what, I don’t even want to know.” He sulked, and Josh wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck.

“It’s not so bad. They really will get bored,” he assured him.

“If I hear one word of this when I go back to the academy… oh God… GORDON.” He groaned again, and Josh quickly grabbed his arms to prevent him from smacking Bruce a third time.

“Hey, no fair!”

“I can’t allow abusive relationships, sweetheart.”

Worst boyfriend in the world.

He promptly informed him of that, and Josh gave him a fake wounded look before he dragged him back to the bedroom to prove him wrong. Sex had kind of become a daytime thing with all five of them sharing a bed and John not quite being ready to join that shuffle. He, well, he knew it was probably an inevitability, but it felt weird still; he wasn’t ready for it, and to be honest he was grateful none of them were pushing for it, just a lot of naked sleeping and some awkward cuddling, because he wasn’t always sandwiched between Tommy and Josh.  He’d woken up one morning with his hand cupping Talia’s breast and another with Bruce sprawled out partly on top of him, awkward for no one but him, apparently.

Talia and Bruce he still felt unsure about. Tommy, though…

_“I STILL have fucking marks on my neck, Tommy.” He glared and inspected the splotches in the mirror. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, you know?_

_“I keep track of your appointments, yes,” Tommy replied, walking up behind him and pressing his thumb into the mark. “You could perhaps wear a scarf?”_

_“So not the point.”_

_Tommy merely smiled, clearly not repentant. Neither was Josh, who was doing his best to try to tease the pants right off of John, literally, tugging at the drawstrings playfully, earning a smack at his fingers._

_“Not now, I’m being pissed off at your brother.”_

_“Our brother, and if you were truly upset I’m sure he would be willing to make amends in some small manner.”_

_“Why of course, I hate to see you so upset, little brother.”_

_He made a non-committal noise, having not recognized the teasing for what it was at the time until Josh wrapped his arms around him to help him stand upright while Tommy knelt down on the floor and his pants finally gave up on the whole keeping his cock covered thing. It was cool, though, because Tommy took over for them._

_He cursed, his hands immediately going to Tommy’s head when he pursed his lips around the tip of his cock and sucked. His wide hands wrapped around his hips, helping Josh to hold him still as he played with the tip of him, popped him out of his mouth and kissed over him wetly before taking him in deeply and groaning. John grunted and his head dropped back onto Josh’s shoulder. “Fuck!”_

_“Look at you.” Josh smiled and mouthed at his exposed neck. “Looks like you like that.”_

_Well of course he fucking did. He muttered that and a remark about the obsceneness of Tommy’s lips before his breathing quickened too much for him to speak. Tommy licked quick swipes of his tongue over the tip of him, smeared wetness over his lips. John looked down and couldn’t stop watching, his hips aching to thrust into the hot wetness of Tommy’s mouth. “G-God just, you better fucking let me come this time, is all I’m saying,” he warned, which earned him a chuckle from Josh._

_“I don’t think that you have to worry about that. Is your leg ok? We could go over to the bed.” His hand stroked down the small of his back and cupped the curve of John’s ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh there, making John groan low in his throat and shake. “Tommy could be inside of you right now, sweetheart, if that’s what you’d like.”_

_Josh knew how to make a persuasive argument. He nodded, feeling hot everywhere when they guided him over to the bed, rolled him onto his side. This time, though, Tommy was behind him instead of Josh. God, his fingers were so thick, and they fingered him open slowly. He really fucking needed to learn to hurry the fuck up. He clenched his fists and tried to curl in on himself as pleasure shot through his body with each leisurely stroke across his prostate, every twist of fingers against his inner walls. Josh slid down on the bed and wrapped his hand around him, licked him with the same unbearable slowness that Tommy used. John yanked on his hair in frustration._

_“Come on, come ON, you’re both going to fucking KILL me,” he cried softly. He wanted it so badly and couldn’t hold back the sound of pure relief when Tommy’s cock rubbed up against his hole while he knelt behind him, sliding against the wetness there, pressing just enough to force the tight ring of muscle to start parting for him. John wriggled, trying to push back and take him, not being able to stand the terrible tease, loving that slow stretch. Tommy’s hand gripped tightly onto his thigh and he bit sharply into his inner cheek in frustration._

_“For the love of GOD, will you just fucking FUCK me already?”_

_Not his proudest moment. Too fucking bad, because it got him exactly what he wanted. His toes curled tight as Tommy slid into him, rubbed tight and hot against him inside and made him feel so full. “God, f-fuck.”_

_“Perhaps one day you will learn to be more articulate when we make love,” Tommy remarked. His own breathing was faster, but the way he pushed into him was slow, so achingly slow._

_John whined then made a face because they so weren’t making love, they were fucking. He hated that phrase and all of the cheesiness and strings and responsibilities it brought with it. He heard Josh chuckle slightly as he licked him because he knew how he felt about it. He tugged at Josh’s hair. “Fuck, I’m not eloquent, ok? C’mon, get up here so I can suck you, Josh.” If he was going to be having sex with two guys, he was going to reap the fucking benefits. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. Anyone who said they’d never once thought about a threesome was a fucking liar._

_He greedily sucked Josh into his mouth, stretching his lips over him and reveling in the heavy sigh of pleasure the action got him, the feeling of Josh’s hand stroking his cheek. Early on in their relationship, it had taken a little convincing on his part to Josh that yeah, he’d been sucking dick for the wrong reasons before, but that didn’t mean he didn’t just really like to suck dick. He just did; especially Josh. He felt so right in his mouth, more than any of those fuckers before had. He tasted so good, he tasted like JOSH, who he loved the taste of. Even when they fucked, John often couldn’t resist pulling Josh’s fingers into his mouth and suckling on them._

_Tommy was moving so slowly still, it was agonizing, it made him work all the faster on Josh because at least someone was filling him up as fast as he wanted. He bobbed his head and wrapped his hand around the base of him, slurping and swallowing when he tasted Josh leaking out onto his tongue. It was so much better than he’d imagined it could be; he somehow felt reigned in but out of control at the same time. His skin was flush from head to toe, and Tommy kept brushing over the different marks he’d made, making him whine and twitch around his cock. He was finally picking up the pace until his excruciating, slow, gentle rocks turned into him roughly fucking into him._

_He grunted as he tried to buck back at him. His cock slid against the sheets, drawing a whine out of him. He flicked his eyes up towards Josh, giving what he considered was his best “you’re not REALLY going to leave my prick all alone and neglected, are you?” look.  Josh’s lip quirked up into an amused smile, and if his mouth hadn’t been full, John would have sighed in pleasure when Josh’s slender fingers wrapped around him._

_“That what you were looking for, sweetheart?” Josh crooned softly as he stroked him, playing at the tip of him with his fingertips. John could feel himself dripping out onto his hand. He was going to lose it any second now, and that was more than ok with him. At that point, honestly, Tommy’s hand joining in was just the icing on the cake. He tossed his head back, Josh slipping wetly out of his mouth and brushing hot across his lips as he came in their hands, gasping as they kept stroking him, milking his cock for every bit they could._

_“You look so pretty when you’re going off like that, sweetheart, so nice.” He was frankly lucky that John didn’t nip him for calling him pretty. He was going to remember that later, when he wasn’t busy feeling like a needy thing._

_“Do you want to feel Tommy coming inside of you, sweetheart?”_

_Oh God. He whined because he really, really did. Bane taking him bare had finally won Josh over, and it was, frankly, awesome. Josh had left him a fucked-out slippery mess their first time doing it, and it had apparently taken John no time at all to get hooked on the feeling of it. Tommy’s fingers were wet  with his own juices when they ran down his jaw._

_“I would like to hear you say it, John.”_

_Fucking bastard. “I want to. I want to feel it, ok?”_

_“How about me, sweetheart? Want me to hold back for you?”_

_Oh Christ, they were both going to kill him. He nodded eagerly anyway, and felt like he was melting when he felt Tommy lose it inside of him. He whined when he slid out and Josh was right there, taking his place, sliding in deep and holding him close._

_“I’ve got you, sweetheart; you’re so wet inside for me,” he whispered against his ear while Tommy laid down in front of him and stroked over his chest, toyed and mouthed at his nipples and palmed his cock at a lazy pace until John was ready again, coming again in a hot, dizzying rush as he felt Josh push deep and cry out against his ear. His hand latched onto Josh’s hand, squeezing it tightly and he just felt so good, so full, so connected._

Yeah. He’d gotten pretty ok about sex with Tommy.


	41. Chapter 41

He had also gotten pretty ok with curling up with them on the couch and watching movies, pretty ok with laying his head in Talia’s lap while she stroked his hair when he felt the first signs of an anxiety attack coming on, pretty ok with going boating with Bruce and on date nights with Josh. Ok enough that it was getting easier to ignore when Josh and Tommy would go out together without talking about where they were going, or when Josh would start to get a little quieter, Bruce would look a little tenser, and then they’d go out and be just fine the next morning. Tommy didn’t have a tell like that, and it seemed like Talia didn’t either, but Bruce and Josh, they had stuff inside that reached a boiling point, and fuck if John didn’t selfishly feel a little relieved when they would come back the next morning and look peaceful.

‘Don’t think about it’ had basically become his fucking mantra, his new religious belief. Don’t think about when he sometimes heard the soft sounds of Tommy talking to himself in the bathroom. Don’t think about when he’d walk into the kitchen and the quiet conversation between Talia and Josh would suddenly switch topics when he knew he’d heard something about moving bodies. Don’t think about how Tommy had carried Bruce into their bedroom one night covered in bruises and cuts from the neck down and laid him out on the bed with the explanation that Bruce had felt himself ready to slip and asked to be cleansed.

Don’t. Fucking. Think. About. It.

Except he did think about it. He thought about it a whole fucking lot. He was just too selfish to do anything but think about it.

Bruce still had the marks, but he was up and about, going through his exercises carefully. He did it every morning, and the dedication alone made John tired even thinking about it.

“Routine helps keep me stable,” had been the only explanation given from the bedside. John decided he liked Bruce exercising.

“You just exercise away, then.” He was feeling energetic himself, anyway, as he stretched and made his way to the dresser, to tug on one of Josh’s shirts. Tommy had made disapproving faces at most of his clothing choices when they’d finally taken the rest of his stuff from the apartment. He had designated almost all of John’s t-shirts as “at home shirts,” insisting that he go clothing shopping once his cast was gone and he could try on pants. Whatever. It meant he got to steal Josh’s shirts when he went out, without needing to explain that they just felt a lot better than his and, even after washing, he could still catch Josh’s scent in them. He couldn't find any he liked clean though so he pulled on one of his own favorite shirts instead.

“Who’s coming with us?”

“Barsad is showering. Just us three.” Bruce stood and pushed his hair out of his face. “I’m going to go join him.”

“Hey, not fair!”

Bruce laughed. “You can join in when you get your cast off,” he called back as he slipped into the bathroom.

“But it’s coming off today!” He gave the door an annoyed hit with his fist. He should totally go in there and watch them. That would sure show them, or something.

Maybe just a peek.

Talia and Tommy weren’t in bed to notice him, anyway. He waited a couple of minutes before he opened the door, and the sound of panting could barely be heard above the spray of hot water. Steam wafted against his face when he peeked in. He could see their distorted shadows against the sheer shower curtain.

_______________

 “So, how long do you think it’s going to take your boyfriend to peek in on us?” Bruce teased against Barsad’s ear, biting at it as he pinned him to the wall. The water cascaded over them and he couldn’t help but share a smirk with Barsad when they could both hear the soft click of the door opening. Not long at all, apparently.

“Mhm, I told you it would work,” Barsad kept his voice soft enough to almost be missed under the sounds of running water. Bruce sighed as he stroked his hands down his shoulders, fingers gently skating over a bruise or two that still lingered from Bane’s assistance.

“If he figures it out, I’m telling him you thought of it.”

“He will never believe you. I am far too innocent,” Barsad protested, grinning slightly as Bruce hauled him up and his legs wrapped tightly around his back. His eyes lidded with desire, but he pulled Bruce in for a brief kiss. “You’re sure this is ok?”

“You’re light enough that I could pound you into the wall all day,” he quickly reassured him, returning his earlier grin with a cocky one of his own. Barsad was just a hair taller than Talia, and while he was a handful of agile muscle, he was still pretty slight. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy that, all of them did. It was no trouble on his back to push Barsad tighter against the slippery tiles and feel his arms wrap more snuggly around him when he pushed into him, knowing that Barsad was a sly bastard when he wanted to be, and that he would have made sure to get himself ready when he had whispered his plan to Bruce before slipping off into the shower.

He was rewarded with the tight squeeze of Barsad’s body as his head tilted back, his neck stretched taut as he shuddered in pleasure. Bruce’s own smooth cheek brushed against the bristle on his brother’s as he grazed his teeth over his jawline. Talia had insisted he shave long ago; only little lambs were allowed to wear their wool. He suspected it was more that he went down on her the most, and she didn’t care for the constant brush burn against her thighs. He was willing to make that sacrifice if the exchange was hearing her sigh and gasp, feeling her stroke her fingers through his hair as she came undone from his tongue.

He had never cared before them. Angry rich brat? He’d gotten all of the sex he wanted from people who would never tell him if he was doing it wrong, and he had been too young to realize a lot of their reactions had been fake. Not his family, though. No walls, no lies, everything between them was real, everything was connected, and when he’d joined them, he had found that his own pleasure wasn’t the only thing he was looking for, anymore. It had been genuinely terrifying at first. Now, though, they had showed him how to embrace it, to want it. Barsad’s moans were now stilted things that caught in his throat with each thrust into him. Bruce loved to hear them, loved how wanton and genuine they were.  Even as he pushed harder, he gave a small smile and rubbed his hand against the small of Barsad’s back.  

Barsad rocked back at him, tiny pushes of his hips that ground them together tightly even while he clung to him. “Bruce...”  He groaned when Barsad’s fingers scratched over his back, catching on cuts and bruises, lighting his nerves on fire. He took him until he was shivering and shuddering against the wet tiles, until he could hear his name being chanted desperately against his ear, and felt the sudden warmth against his stomach as he came apart for him, making him thrust harder until he really did feel a slight twinge and ache in his back, but it was nothing, easy to ignore as he bit down roughly at Barsad’s shoulder and spilled into his brother.

His brother. He felt an ache in his chest as he placed a light kiss to the teeth marks he’d left. His brother, his family. He would protect them, because if you didn’t protect the people you cared about, you lost them.

_______________

Barsad smiled hazily, and carefully lowered his shaky legs down onto the slick tub floor. He kissed Bruce’s cheek as his breathing was still coming out in quick pants. Even if he did not like to speak of it, he felt when his brother was silently filled with familial emotion that at times still overwhelmed him.

He pulled him in for a quick embrace, not too long, but enough, and reached up to wash his hair, knowing it was best to let his brother come to terms on his own while he kept close, scratching soapy fingers into his scalp until he relaxed and started soaping down Barsad’s body in return with slow, steady strokes that felt wonderful to his already heated skin.

He snuck a peek through lowered lids at the door, holding back laughter when he saw the door quickly pulled shut. He hoped John enjoyed himself. He had thought that perhaps if he saw him with his brother or sister that he might be intrigued. John was such a curious person by nature, and had a very healthy sexual appetite; Barsad merely aimed to whet it. When they finished and left the bathroom wrapped in towels, he noted the slight flush to John’s cheek when he kissed it and the way he sat on the bed so as not to advertise the swell in his pants. Precious.

“Ready then, sweetheart?”

“Fuck yes. I can’t wait to get this stupid thing off.”

“Think of all of the wild sex we could be having,” Bruce commented as he slipped into his trousers, ones he had brought from his home. Barsad was a little sad to see it, Bruce’s armor being slipped back on. He knew his vacation couldn’t last forever and that Talia would most likely have to listen to her wandering heart sooner or later, but he loved having all of them together.

“Oh yeah, that is ALL I’m thinking about,” John shot back with an eye roll.

The trip to the doctor’s proved John’s excitability. Barsad had to put a hand gently on his shoulder while John practically vibrated with energy, chattering quite rapidly. It was wonderful to see him in such high spirits. He had been doing so very well lately, and even with setbacks Barsad was happy to be seeing so much of John’s beautiful personality shining through, his curiosity, his snark and stubbornness. John ducked his head and muttered an apology, looking embarrassed. Barsad leaned over the seat to kiss his cheek.

“You’re adorable sometimes.”

“Fuck you. I’m not.” But Barsad could see the pleased little look in his eyes when he kissed his cheek again and rubbed his shoulder to keep him in his seat.

“You are.” He wouldn’t ever let John get away with thinking he wasn’t.

“I’m manly as hell.”

“Adorably manly.”

“Josh, that doesn’t even make SENSE,” John protested, but Barsad was more than happy to tease and argue with him. Bruce occasionally added to the conversation, taking his side much to John’s protest, until they got to the office.

Barsad sat close and held John’s hand while the saw did its work, pleased when John’s leg was finally freed and healthy, if not a little thinner and paler than before.

“God, I look like a zombie. Look at how fucking scaly I am.” He scratched over his thigh, closing his eyes and groaning. “Oh God, yes. I missed scratching.”

“Stop scratching,” the doctor quickly reprimanded him, earning a chagrined look from John. “You’ll want to take it easy for a while. Don’t go running any marathons, but start exercising it carefully.”

“You know if there was a pool, swimming would probably be good for it,” Bruce pointed out casually.

“No pool,” Barsad and John spoke out together and shared a grin. He waited for the doctor to leave before he wrapped his arms around John and kissed him, so happy his sweetheart was free of his cast and mobile again. He knew how much having to be still had bothered John, and it hadn’t helped his feelings of helplessness with all that had happened. He hoped this added freedom would be good for him. He knew his family had talked in private, slightly worried that the cast being gone could be something to be concerned over, but he was optimistic. John was warming to them; Barsad had seen him giving Tommy a smile the other day, the sort of smile that he knew before had only ever been reserved for him. Rather than be jealous, he felt his heart glow at the prospect of John settling in so well with them, of him being able to open up his heart to his family.

He insisted that he wrap an arm snug around John’s waist for his first walk to the car, teasing him about how he wobbled like a little fawn the first few paces as his body had to relearn the absence of weight from the cast. He was steadier, though, as they made their way out to the parking lot after, and he kept lifting his leg and stretching it out experimentally.

“God, it is so good to have that off.”

“I’m sure it is.” He and Bruce shared a look as they stood on the sidewalk, waiting for John to notice.

“…Why did we stop?” He suddenly looked up from his leg to them.

Bruce chuckled and tossed a set of keys at John which his hands snapped and caught mostly out of instinct. “Because we’re at the car.”

“No we—”

Barsad tipped his head back and laughed when John’s eyes fell onto the sleek blue Lamborghini that had been pulled up to the curb.

“You said you liked blue,” Bruce answered, his smugness able to be heard in his voice. “Have fun.”

Barsad considered whether he should reach up and help John close his jaw, then decided against it. Instead, he smiled at Bruce and gave him a small wave as he walked back to his own car. “So, are you ready to drive?”

“You…”

“He was more than thrilled for the excuse to purchase it.”

“You—Holy fucking shit!”

Barsad laughed, watching as John put his hands onto the car finally, then hopped into it excitedly. “No way. No fucking way.”

He laughed louder and slipped in beside him. “Yes way. So, where are you taking me, handsome?”


	42. Chapter 42

John ran his hands across the dash and steering wheel, his eyes shining still with disbelief and excitement. “I can’t believe… I can’t believe you guys did this.” His voice got softer at that, and Barsad leaned to steal a kiss from him, hoping to stave off an emotional drop. John’s mood swings before his trauma were tricky at best, and had escalated after the event. He could recognize a dip easily, and had gotten better at keeping him leveled. He wasn’t about to let his sweetheart feel guilty for getting something nice. John needed a car anyway for when—and not ‘if’ if Barsad had anything to say about it—he started back at the academy. It was, of course, a ridiculously showy car, but they’d discussed it and didn’t see the harm in it as it wasn’t something that would be used for hunting. It was to be strictly John’s, and he did not have to worry about hiding. In fact, they agreed it would be better if he learned to strut a bit more.

The sudden quiet tension in John eased out, and they ended up with their arms wrapped snuggly around each other, gentle kisses turning slowly more heated as he licked at the seam of John’s mouth and he opened sweetly for him. “You know… there’s enough room in here for some fun.”

John laughed like Barsad hoped he would, and their tongues met briefly before he pulled back. “Fuck no. These seats are leather. We’re not ruining them the first day.”

“Date night it is, then.” He nuzzled at John’s ear playfully and rubbed his thigh, stroking a tempting line over the crotch of his pants. “Better get us home quick, then, because I can think of about seven different positions off the top of my head that I want to put you in without that cast in the way.”

John cursed and squirmed in his seat, clearly worked up already, then groaning at that thought. “Oh fuck, yes.” He gave him an almost shy look. “Could we… I want inside of you.”

Barsad felt his insides heat up at the thought. He’d never quite been able to convince John that he loved him inside as much as he loved being inside of him. He knew John liked it plenty, too, but he always seemed reluctant to ask for it, like he was worried Barsad wouldn’t want it as much. He had been pleased when he’d straightforwardly asked for it on his birthday, but they hadn’t for convenience sake since the accident, and now it sounded wonderful like a wonderful way to celebrate.

He gave John a wink as he started up the car, and ran his hand slowly up his thigh, cupping him lightly and feeling his sweetheart gasp and rock into his hand. “When we get home, I’m going to ride this until you see spots.” He grinned at the low groan he got in response and how John’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly.

His grin turned into a gleeful laugh when John sped out of the parking lot. He tried not to prove too distracting, knowing the risk of an accident would be foolhardy, but he perhaps sat with his legs a little further apart than needed, ran his hands up and down his thighs a few times slowly. It was worth it to hear John’s breath catch, see him glance over then quickly tear his gaze away to look back at the road.

“Will it be just you and me, or did you want Tommy to join in on the celebrating?”

He sighed and tipped his head back as he ran his fingertips over the seam of his pants, feeling the warm stirring of his own cock and the press of his jeans becoming tighter.

“You’re going to get us in a fucking accident,” John’s voice was a harsh whisper, filled with desire.

“Well?”

“Christ, I don’t know, ok? Maybe.”

Barsad smiled. He wanted him to, he could tell. John was much easier to read than he ever cared to be. He wished for it, too; it was something the three of them should celebrate together. “He could take you, sweetheart, while I rode you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to choose at all, you’d get both.”

John muttered a curse at him, trying to ignore him and focus more on the road, but his ears and cheeks were getting so pinked. Barsad could see the soft flush of arousal creeping up his neck. He considered taking himself out and masturbating, telling John everything they could be doing right then, but decided that that was perhaps too much of a distraction, especially when John was not very used to driving. Besides, he wouldn’t want to upset him by dirtying the seats.

John practically pounced him when he stepped out of the car, taking full advantage of his new mobility to pin him to the hood of it. Barsad lay back, feeling the warmth of the engine sinking into his spine. He ran his hands down John’s arms. “Are we going to right here, then? I didn’t exactly think to stock a bottle of lube in the garage.”

John laughed and lay down over him, pressing the weight of his chest against Barsad’s, making him sigh contently at the pressure and thread his fingers into John’s hair as John placed open mouthed kisses to the crook of his neck. “I’m kind of amazed you guys don’t have any out here.”

“I will have to remedy that, I suppose. We have been having much more intimacy of late with Talia and Bruce uniting and your joining our family. Perhaps it would pay off to stock some in every room.” He smiled at the laugh that got.

“Please not the kitchen. We EAT there.”

“I’m sure Tommy would never approve,” he agreed, laughing privately over the raised eyebrow this conversation would surely have if his brother were there to witness it. “He might even be scandalized.”

John’s kissing down his neck suddenly stopped, and a giggle escaped his lips before he forced his voice to deepen exaggeratedly. “You shall not fornicate on the table, brothers. It is most unclean.”

Barsad bit his lip and tried, but could not resist bursting into laughter, wrapping his arms around John and hugging him close, their arousal momentarily forgotten for the sake of mirth.

“It would indeed be unclean.”

He felt John freeze on top of him when their brother’s voice drifted to them from the garage door. He looked over and spotted him crowding the door frame, his arms crossed, but his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I would ask that you at least wipe the table, after.”

They were simply done for after the comment. John burst into another laugh and Barsad bit at his ear, playfully shushing him as Tommy’s thicker rumble of laughter filled the air.

“I can’t, I can’t,” John wheezed softly, still laughing when Tommy walked over to pull him up.

“I am glad to see you whole again, John.” His brother was smiling slightly, truly looking pleased with John’s laughter even if it had started at his expense. Tommy may not have been one to make many jokes, but he had no problem enjoying them even when they poked fun at him. John’s wheezing became a sucked in breath when his brother’s hand palmed over his stomach and slid under the thin cotton shirt. “I thought this was designated a ‘home’ shirt.”

“Oh come on, really? A-ah—” his protest was cut off when Tommy’s fingers ran up his chest and toyed with his nipple, making his head dip back.

“Home shirt.”

“Ok, g-gah, ok, then take it off, would yah?” John snapped, and Barsad sat up on the car, reaching up to help do just that.

“He thinks we need lube in the garage.” He gave Tommy a grateful look when he guided John closer so he could rub his thumb over his other nipple, pinching it in time with Tommy’s fingers and making John’s knees wobble as Tommy wrapped his arm around him to steady him.

“One might wonder why we have a bed at all,” Tommy remarked, plucking at John’s nipple and making him jerk again in his hold. “Since you both seem determined not to put it to use.”

“We can—f-fuck!—go to the bed. We can totally go to the bed right now,” John whined softly, and Tommy caught him up for a kiss, one that seemed to sweep John away as he melted into their brother’s strong embrace.

“He has two legs to wrap around you now, were you to wish to carry him to the bedroom,” he suggested cheerfully, delighted when Tommy’s hands slid down John’s back to grope his ass, grabbing up firm handfuls and tugging him up insistently. John’s moan was low and needy when he wrapped his legs tightly around Tommy’s waist. Barsad ran a playful hand down his brother’s back, stroking over the firm curve of his thighs and ass before heading back to the bedroom with them.

It was fast, passionate work and he was happy to let John do it. He reveled in feeling John’s fingers stretch him, watched his sweetheart’s eyes flicker with hunger and longing as he slid down his cock, clenched around him, moaned for him, and took him deep inside.

“Do you like that, sweetheart? Do you like being bare inside of me?” he whispered as he kissed and tongued at his ear, listening to the choked gasps as John bottomed out in him, as John got to experience it for the first time. John whimpered softly, whispered back in awe how good it was, as though if he spoke any louder the feeling would be lost. He couldn’t resist taking his hand and holding it as he rocked slowly, feeling John gliding into him, sweet and perfect.

He could feel Tommy’s hand petting over his spine, rubbing down his trembling thighs as he rode John, made him buck up desperately into him and dig his fingers into his hip. “Can Tommy play, too?”

“Oh God, fuck, I might actually die,” John warned. “Are you trying to kill me?” Barsad laughed breathlessly and kissed him.

“I’m not, I promise; I just want you to feel as good as possible. I just love seeing you come undone, sweetheart.”

“Christ, ok, ok,” John whimpered, and couldn’t still his hips as Tommy stretched him carefully, worked him wet and loose before he cried out and cursed as he speared into him. Barsad attacked his lips, licked and bit at them as John held his hand in a vice grip. He could hear the soft, wet smack of skin hitting skin, and felt John move under him as Tommy let go, didn’t hold back his low growl of pleasure when he knew John’s leg was no longer a concern. Barsad couldn’t help but feel mischievous. It wouldn’t do to be outdone by his brother. He kissed John’s hand before guiding it to his hip, then braced his own hands on John’s chest and forced his hips faster, rose up and let himself drop down, bit his lip at the feeling of John pushing deep.

John went speechless under them; even his shameless cursing seemed to have left him as he held onto Barsad’s hips like his very sanity depended on it. It was pure playful cruelty that drove him to pull his hands from his hips and pin them by the wrists to the bed. It seemed to be the final straw, and John became like a livewire under them, snapping his hips up desperately, keening as his orgasm struck him with such a sudden intensity that his face almost looked pained as it hit him. Barsad clenched tight around him, working to milk his cock until John did begin to look pained and pulled at his wrists, whining softly that it was too much.

He could still feel his brother’s heavy thrusts behind him and considered helping to push John to another climax, but it seemed cruel to put him through so much even when there was such a reward. Instead, he slid forward, releasing his hold on John’s cock before he wrapped his hand around his own, stroking himself until he spent, painting John’s flushed chest and throat with stripes of come. John sighed when he felt them, murmuring about how warm it felt, and they trailed their fingers through to together as he heard a low growl from his brother and felt John’s body jerk sharply beneath him as Tommy found his own climax. John’s eyes fluttered, and Barsad wondered if in his state of blissful satiation he would be offended if he told him how beautiful and wanton he looked whenever he felt one of them come inside of him.

Perhaps he’d simply use it later as fuel to tease him.

Tommy lay down beside John, and tilted his head towards him for a kiss which was returned, not without a tired moan. Tommy tousled his hair lightly when John sighed.

“Too spent to even use foul language? Perhaps we have found our best arsenal to keep your lips clean.”

John groaned and shoved at Tommy’s arm while Barsad laughed and leaned close to Tommy to slot their lips together, briefly letting their tongues meet. “It is a rare thing. I find his wicked tongue to be an endearing trait.”

John groaned again and rubbed his hand over his face. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Very endearing,” he laughed when Tommy snorted.

“He is like an untrained puppy.”

“…This is the worst after-fuck talk I’ve ever had.” John shook his head and wrapped an arm around Barsad. “And I used to give blowjobs in back alleys.”

“Ah, yes; this has certainly made it more pleasant.” Barsad pinched his side, earning a yelp. “You should shower, clean your leg.”

“I can’t MOVE.”

“I could perhaps use another shower.”

John gaped. “HOW? How can you even be thinking about showering together?”

“He has always had the most energy out of us,” Tommy confided, and Barsad ducked his head. He could not help his family made him feel so passionate, that he loved to be able to express such passion with his body. It made him feel very good indeed to lie with them, to pleasure them as he knew each of them liked, and to gain his own pleasure from those actions. Talia often teased him that he was simply making up for time lost in his youth. Perhaps he was, but his family was more than happy to help him make up that time. During his time with John, he had spent a fair amount of time with his palm, never wanting to rush things with him or make him feel like Barsad wished him only for sex, but the sudden, though admittedly brief, interlude between his family’s bodies, to brief abstinence, to John’s body had been a struggle, indeed.

“We could simply wash. You assumed that we would be having sex there, as well. I find that to be very presumptuous, sweetheart.” He kissed his nose and laughed when John pushed at his face.

“Yeah, right!”

“Attempting to sway my innocent mind…”

“It is most unseemly,” Tommy agreed.

“Hey!”


	43. Chapter 43

John stretched his legs. Yes, stretched his LEGS out, plural, and wiggled his toes joyously under the table. It felt beyond amazing to have the cast off. He wasn’t going to be sprinting anytime soon, though to be fair that might have more to do with the soreness in his ass and cock that he could feel whenever he shifted around too much at the table, but he was feeling so good. Tommy offered to start going for walks with him in the morning to get his leg back into shape and, well, early morning walks sounded terrible, but maybe he’d do it because it was a good idea.

Maybe he also kind of secretly liked the idea of spending some time with just him and Tommy. Maybe he was starting to more than just sort of like Tommy, and that was beyond confusing because it was hard enough to think about how much he felt about even Josh. Tommy was making him feel stupid and fluttery, though, flustered and warm, just like how Josh did, and he couldn’t help that he had loved how good Tommy had felt when he had climbed over him in the bed late the night before last and woken him by pressing a warm kiss to his throat and asking if he could take him while he was still drowsy and sleep warmed, or that he’d wrapped his legs around him and said yes.  It wasn’t his fault how comforting it was when Tommy would wrap a quiet arm around him when he was feeling kind of torn up inside and pull him into the living room, read softly to him as John curled up against him.

Bruce and Talia hadn’t spent the night with them, and he was surprised when he realized how weird it had felt. His sleep had been less easy, and he had been more than a little glad for the distraction Tommy had provided and proceeded to wear him out with. With five in the bed, they slept close, pressed in tight, like he and Josh had before in his apartment, and their absence had been noticed by his body and how it didn’t seem quite as warm even with Josh’s arms wrapped around him and Tommy’s arm draped over them both. What did it say about you when it didn’t feel quite as right when there were only three people in your bed instead of five? Hell if he knew, anymore.

Right now he sat at the table and spun Josh’s phone around in circles, nervously. Gordon wanted to talk to him. Bruce told him he’d contacted him more than once, but Bruce had always politely deflected him, had one of his P.A’s distract him or even called him in person once to let him know that he’d have John call him as soon as he felt ready.

_“I’d call it harassment, but he honestly seems to be concerned about you,” Bruce had told him as he tucked Gordon’s number into his hand. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a good man. You should at least talk to him. Tell him if you’re going to help him or not.”_

_“I CAN’T help him.”_

_“No, not really, but you can help Barsad and yourself by pretending to give him a hand.”_

He gave the phone another spin and sighed. This, if he agreed to do it, meant he had to think about it. Had to lie out loud about the things he’d made himself stop acknowledging. It was more than a little tempting to never call Gordon, to never go back to the police academy, to just let things stay exactly where they were, where he’d reached a fairly good level of repression and denial. He knew he could do it, too, and they would encourage him but not force him to go back to the academy. He was more than a little scared to break the fragile shell around what was happening to him at the moment and do something stupid to fuck it up.

He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to slip off now. He could do it, too; fuck, he had his car keys in his pocket. He drove off on his own now, sometimes. He frankly loved the excuse to use his car. He’d gone to the store by himself just the other day to do the grocery shopping without a second thought beyond that he should hurry home before Tommy tried to go through his shirt drawer and toss out his favorite grungy shirt like he’d threatened last time he wore it out to the bar with Josh.

What if he talked to Gordon and got spooked? Tried to run off? He honestly didn’t think they’d hurt him, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Would Bane get some crazy idea to cleanse him? Would they chain him back up to the bed and they’d start back at square one? Would he hurt their feelings by betraying their trust? Would they be disappointed in him? That thought made his gut twist. He slid the phone away from himself. God, he didn’t want to have to be making this kind of decision.

He stood up and walked to the back porch, peeked out, and watched Josh chopping wood not far off, swinging the ax down sharply and splitting the logs that would later be fed into the fireplace. The fire was nice, even though it was warming up they still liked to use it some nights, especially when Talia was there. He learned that she and Tommy had shared many a fire together as their only warmth as they’d traveled across the globe, so to lie out in front of the fire together was a special connection between them.

He swung open the screen door with a low creak, getting Josh’s attention with a wave. He stopped mid-swing, and even while he was busy overthinking things he could still fit in ogling Josh’s arms and the way his lean muscles stretched while he worked.

“What can I do for you, handsome?” He leaned the axe against his leg and tugged off his gloves, wiping the sweat off of his face. His tone was light and playful, and it was slightly distracting to be honest, but John did have important things on his mind.

“Could we uhm, talk, maybe?” There was no way he was going to get through this without sounding like such a girl, even though Josh always scolded him for putting it like that. It was just how he felt, when Josh wanted to talk to him he managed to not sound like a girl at all; he didn’t know how he did it.

“Of course.” He ushered him inside and they settled on the couch together. Josh draped an arm over his shoulder and ran his hand down his arm. He propped his feet up, just waiting for John to be ready to talk, knowing not to push, or pressure, just waiting. God, he was perfect. He leaned against him more and kissed his cheek, feeling the gentle smile Josh gave when he muttered that fact at him. Then he spilled it, all of the bits and pieces he’d been worried about ever since Bruce put the phone number in his hand, all of his fears and concerns, and just maybe, after he felt stupid letting all of those words topple out of his lips, he buried his face into Josh’s chest and whispered that he was worried most about disappointing them, but he honestly hoped Josh didn’t hear that one because it made him feel like such a child.

Josh listened quietly to every word, ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck near the end of his ramblings, his fingertips scratched gently through the short hairs there. “What do you want from me here, sweetheart?”

He groaned softly. “Tell me I’m not going to fuck this up.” He hesitated then looked up at him. “And tell me what’s going to happen if I do.”

“You won’t. This is your home; you know that now, right? How much we love you being here with us?”

He nodded. “I know… I really do, it… It really feels like home,” he admitted quietly.

Josh beamed at him and pulled him in for a tender kiss. “I cannot begin to describe how happy that makes me. Now, this is your home, and you want to be here with us, right? Nothing’s going to go wrong. Even if you get a little mixed up talking to the police commissioner, I know it’s going to be ok.”

“What if it isn’t? What if it really isn’t ok? Fuck, I feel like I can’t control myself, sometimes.” He hated it. He’d always hated how his anger made him fly off the handle. Toss in panic attacks and anxiety, even worse mood swings from his PTSD, and he hated how he felt like he just wasn’t running the show at all when it came to his body.

“Do you think you’re going to tell the commissioner about me, who I am, where I live?”

“Christ, no!” His fingers dug into Josh’s chest at that. “I wouldn’t, I COULDN’T.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, and neither do we.”

“What if I freak out after I talk to him and run off?”

“Bruce planted a tracking device in your neck while you were sleeping.”

“…That had better be a goddamn joke.”

Josh laughed and tousled his hair. “It was, though sometimes I think he might do it. He is very protective.”

“Him and Tommy both,” he agreed. “And Talia, in her own… terrifying way.”

Josh laughed again. “You will not find me disagreeing with any of those assessments.”

“What would really happen?” He pushed at his chest, trying to keep his nerves from showing. He really had to know. He just did.

“I…” Josh hesitated. “I honestly don’t know, sweetheart; it wouldn’t just be up to me to make that call. Tommy and Talia are usually the ones who make the big decisions like that.”

“We would bring you home, John; it is as simple as that.”

John jumped and twisted around to see Tommy in the hall. It was unbelievable how Tommy was easily able to sneak up on him with all of his mass. Josh didn’t seem startled, though; he simply nodded to Tommy in greeting as he shrugged out of his coat and set his bag onto the table before he continued.

“We are very skilled at hunting someone down, John. Talia and I have chased our prey across continents before, when we felt it to be a worthwhile pursuit. You would never be able to hide from us.”

He swallowed as his throat constricted slightly in fear. Tommy wasn’t threatening. He was promising. He sat down with them on the couch and laid his hand on John’s shoulder.

“When we found you, we would bring you home. I am sure you would be very weary then, John. You are spirited, and so you would have been running for days on end. You would have used every resource at your disposal because you are cunning, as well. You would be so tired then when we finally caught you up, wild, fearful as we carried you inside. I suspect your wrists would need to be bound for you would still struggle even when we caught you, fearful of punishment even when there would be none forthcoming.”

John’s breathing sped up as he listened, his heart pounded. He honestly didn’t know if this was supposed to be comforting or a warning or what. “You can’t, though, I mean, I don’t believe you wouldn’t punish me for that.”

“We would not, John. There would be no need to. We would take you to the bath first and clean you, let you settle as we washed you, checked your body for any wounds you might have received in your flight. You would most likely struggle then, but we would keep you still, make you soak in the heated water until its warmth made your limbs loosen and your heart settle. Then we would take you to bed and hold you until you found your rest.”

“Still fucking tied up,” he realized.

“Still bound,” Tommy agreed. “Until such a time passed that we were certain you came to realize again how dear you are to us, and that your home is with us.”

John swore softly then turned to wrap his arms around Tommy, who seemed to not expect it, but hugged him in return. “This soothes you?”

“In a really, really fucked up way? Yeah… yeah, it does.”


	44. Chapter 44

I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to meet up with me, John.” Gordon pulled out his chair and sat down holding his cup of coffee. They were at a coffee shop not far from the station; John really didn’t feel up to sticking himself in a building full of cops, but this was something he felt ok with.

If John had been expecting a reprimand, some sort of guilting for not contacting the commissioner sooner, well, it wasn’t forthcoming. Gordon had looked pleased to see him, bought the coffee and waved John off when he tried to pay for his own.

“Thank you, sir.” He rubbed his hands across his legs, fighting the urge to fidget. Gordon was a good person, a good commissioner. Gordon only wanted to do the right thing, and John wished he could help, but he was in way too deep now, felt too strongly about, fuck, about his FAMILY, to give them up. “I’m not sure how I can help, but I’ll try.”

“We’ll start off slow. I’d like to get your story again, if that’s ok, and go over some things in your folder, then if you’re feeling alright there’s something else I’d like to go over with you.”

He could do this. He nodded and sipped his coffee, took a big enough swallow that it scalded his tongue, but he was just fine. He started off slow, tried to make it like he was telling a story, which in a way he was, tried to make it like an out of body experience. It went ok. He stopped once and Gordon didn’t press him, waited for him to take a couple deep breaths and go get a refill before he continued. He’d given his story to Dr. Crane, just not in such detail, so this wasn’t new, and he was doing just fine.

It was hard to look over his folder. God, little things in it now, when he looked over his notes, just screamed out “JOSH WAS HERE” in big flashing letters, information he’d gathered on the killings—slow, careful, patient—theories on his kill site—quiet, unassuming, a safe place. Exactly all of the things he didn’t want to think about. All the things he was ever so carefully repressing and blocking out.

“Are you still doing ok?” Gordon checked on him, leaned closer but not too close, didn’t crowd; he was really good at doing what he did, clearly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m ok, really,” he reassured him firmly when Gordon didn’t look quite so sure. He wasn’t falling to pieces, not at all.

Gordon seemed to study him for a few moments before he nodded. “Good. Then I’ve got some news. We were finally able to subpoena the security footage from the hospital. It took the bastards long enough to come through with it, not the best hospital you were in, but I’d like you to take a look at it.”

He could barely hear most of what Gordon was saying, not with all of the blood suddenly pounding in his ears and the world suddenly feeling like it was crashing in on him.

“Security footage?” it was all he could manage to force out the words. Why hadn’t this been mentioned sooner? He’d been at a shitty hospital that night, the area hadn’t exactly been the best, and he’d figured that there hadn’t been any cameras or that they’d been a bust. He knew from classes just how long it could really take for the police to be able to look over footage, but he’d never expected this.

“If you’re feeling up to it, John. No pressure, we can always set up another time.”

John’s fingernails bit into his thighs. “Maybe another time.”

“Of course, can I give you a call later to set up a time?”

He nodded numbly, forcing his breathing to come out evenly even though there didn’t feel like there was enough air at all in the building. Who had taken all of the fucking air out of the room? Security footage. What did they have? Did they have Josh’s face? Was it enough to capture him? He felt sick when Gordon left. What if it was enough to arrest Josh? It would be all his fault. Josh had been in that hospital because of him. He would be the reason he was in jail.

He made his way to the coffee shop’s single bathroom and locked the door, dropping down to crouch in the thankfully quite clean corner and fight his churning stomach. He didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to call Josh right away and tell him, warn him, but he didn’t know what sort of series of consequences that might set into motion. He’d garnered enough information, information he really fucking didn’t want, to know that his family had killed people in the past when they found out too much, got too close ‘for the greater good.’

He wasn’t going to get the fucking police commissioner killed, not when the man had been nothing but kind to him. He was a good person, and John was a fucking terrible person, but that didn’t mean he was going to be the reason an actual good person died, he just wasn’t. He was going to have to figure this out on his own. He couldn’t tell Josh or anyone else, not yet, at least not until he knew what was on that footage. If it was really bad, he’d tell them, so they could figure out what to do, but until he knew, this was going to be his secret to bear.

His fingers were shaking when he finally pushed himself up from the ground and went to splash some water on his face. Taking a few deep, practiced breaths didn’t seem to help much. After a while of gripping the cool sink counter, he debated before finally fishing Josh’s cellphone from his pocket. They hadn’t bothered with getting him one, yet, as he tended to rarely go out alone, so he borrowed Josh’s when needed.

Josh and Tommy were… out. He’d seen Tommy quietly zipping his bag shut earlier, and he didn’t know if they were going out to stalk or actually fucking kill someone, and he was never going to ask, but there was no way he’d call them now, not when out of worry one of them might answer Tommy’s phone anyway and he could be treated to screams in the background. Bruce, well, he had no idea where Bruce was, but he was back from his “vacation,” and he assumed that meant he had a lot of catching up on work to do. It seemed awkward to interrupt him just because he was being an emotional wreck, especially when he couldn’t even tell him why.

He scrolled through the phone’s contacts and felt a small smile tug his lips when Talia was simply labeled as ‘sister.’ Josh tended to do that; he knew that his old number had simply been in his contacts as ‘sweetheart.’ A quick glance showed that Bruce was in there as ‘brother’ and Tommy’s was in there as… ‘brother/brother’… well, that was creepy. He shook his head and tried to take another calm breath in before he called Talia.

_______________

It was a boring enough meeting that it was no small reprieve to look down at her vibrating phone. She had laid it into her lap before the meeting, quietly irritated, not for the first time, that the business dressware designed for women often had no pockets of which to speak. She much preferred practicality over fashion, but being a chameleon meant sacrifices must be made. A glance over to Bruce showed his head tilted back and his eyes closed as though he slept through the meeting. She knew better. Brother or not, she never would have invested her family’s legacy in his company if he was an idiot. He liked to play these games, downplay his intelligence, pretend to sleep through meetings while he absorbed every word of them and used his knowledge to his advantage when others questioned him.

Josh was calling, which was a curious thing as he knew that they were both to be at a board meeting. No, she corrected herself when she realized that Josh was with Tommy hunting. It was most likely John, who would not realize. She considered a moment letting it go, but John had never called her before, and she was rather taken with him now, a sweet little brother who was so prickly and spirited still; it was charming, like they’d picked up a street urchin. She had enjoyed his indignant reactions when she had informed him of that.

It was true, though; he lacked so much discipline it was actually sweet in its own manner. When he had been declared family at first, she had of course accepted it because it was not a decision Tommy would ever make lightly, especially not when he was not like them. She understood now, though, why John belonged with them, and she more than simply accepted. John was let into her heart just as were her other brothers. She had soothed him through his terrors, laid his head in her lap and showed him affection that was only given to her family. In her mind, that made him as good as hers, just as another of her brothers.

She quietly dismissed herself, not missing the way Bruce peeked from behind a half lidded eye at her with curiosity as she left. Let him wonder.  The phone was still buzzing softly, and she ducked into an empty hall to answer it.

“Is something wrong, John?” It would not do to exchange pleasantries if her help was needed. She could sense the hesitation, then, before he spoke. His breathing was slightly faster than usual, not much, but she noticed such things in people.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I mean, not really. I just, I needed to talk to someone.”

“Then talk, dear brother.” She added the endearment as an afterthought, realizing he might interpret her tone as cold otherwise when she merely wished him to speak.

“Could we… I don’t know, you’re probably busy. I’m sorry.” John’s tone became softer, as though he had embarrassed himself by calling, but Talia knew when someone wanted something but they felt too nervous to ask for it.

“John, would you like me to come see you?”

“If you’re busy—”

“There is not anything here that is more important than you.” Very true, though a touch sappy; it was rewarded with a relieved sigh, though, and she knew it had been the right choice.

“I’m at a coffee shop, one by the Gotham police station.”

That gave her pause until things clicked into place. There had been talk about John speaking once more with the commissioner. So that was what triggered his sudden upset; it made sense now, that he would not wish to be alone.

“I will take a taxi there.” She hung up, never having understood the point in goodbyes on the telephone.

The taxicab ride was not long. She strode into the small café and glanced around, pursing her lips when she did not see John. Following a hunch, she went and lightly knocked on the bathroom door. “John?”

The door swung open after a moment and John emerged. He looked troubled, more so than he had been of late after settling in with them. She cupped his cheek and he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. “Do you wish to go home?”

He shook his head a little. “Can we just go somewhere? I just want to be able to get my mind off things.” He kept close to her as she guided him out of the café.

“I am sure we can think of something to do.” She considered the options. There was always Bruce’s boat, but it did not feel right. She slipped his keys from his pocket, ignoring his indignant protest with a smile. She knew no one else had gotten a chance to drive John’s car, and she wasn’t about to pass it up. “You are upset. I will drive.”

He pouted, entertaining, but it also was clear being in the presence of family was calming him. “We will go shopping. Tommy will be thrilled to finally have more presentable clothing for you.”

“Ugh.” He fiddled with the radio. “I hate clothes shopping.”

“Then you are sure to hate this,” she assured him, smiling lightly at the snort it got. Truth be told, she hated it, too, for the most part. Before she had needed to assume an identity to be able to invest and do business in Gotham, she had never given clothing a second thought. Suddenly, she was expected to dress as a ‘woman.’

She remembered being downright lost and returning from a trip empty handed and frustrated over the entire situation. Tommy had listened to her upset and then called Bruce. The next day they had gone out together, and he had guided her through the entire process, explained such things as designer dresses and kitten heels, had sworn her to secrecy then taught her how to walk in them which had been perhaps worth needing to wear them herself. He had turned out to be quite skilled at picking out what would flatter her most, to which he had smirked and pointed out that he had spent a lot of time looking at her body. He had made it fun to shop, and perhaps she could help John find it moderately tolerable, as well. If not, well, it would take his mind off things, anyway.

It was entertaining to enter the shop with him, to see his eyes go wide at the frivolity there. It was overdone, but they did offer clothing that was well made, which was the important thing. She was greeted by name, and John was eyed. She wondered if they recognized him from the magazine rags; being seen shopping with Bruce Wayne’s close female friend and having her doing the purchasing was sure to add fuel to the fire. It was entertaining, the way the media had latched onto John. His story had been leaked, a rags to riches story of one orphan finding love with another. The media had gobbled it up, and they’d somewhat sheltered John from just how much of a sensation he was at the moment.

John was soon surrounded by assistants, all clearly having in mind their commission fee, and gave her a somewhat helpless look as though he was about to be devoured. She decided she might show him a little mercy.

In a few minutes, after someone brought her some coffee and someone took John’s measurements.

She finally shooed away the vultures and cornered one, giving them firm instructions, asking John what colors and styles he preferred and interpreting his inexperienced responses until they soon had piles of clothing for him to try on. She laughed lightly at his startled look when she went into the dressing room with him, ignoring the soft “aww” she heard from outside, her actions seen as an innocent friend helping out their hapless friend’s new fling.

“It is not as though I have not seen you, John,” she pointed out when he hesitated to undress.

He mumbled but changed. She enjoyed the view, and helped him with such things as suspenders and ties when it was clear he did not know how to wear them. He looked quite charming all dressed up. She perhaps got into dressing him up like doll. He looked uncomfortable at first, until she carefully smoothed down slight wrinkles, adjusted his shirt and collar, running her fingers across his neck; then he looked uncomfortable for perhaps another reason. She smiled and stood on her toes to nuzzle his ear.

“How handsome you look.”

He swallowed heavily and cleared his throat. “T-thanks.”

She laughed softly and ran her palm lightly over the seam of his pants, fingers playing at his zipper, listening to the shuddery breath it drew, feeling the heat beneath her fingers. “Very handsome, indeed.”

“J-Jesus.” His hands went to her waist, fingers bunching into the soft silk of her dress.

“So, Barsad said he did not know, himself; have you been with a woman before, John?”

“I…” He moaned and his forehead dropped down to tuck against her neck. “God, not… once or twice I was with a girl in school.”

She shook her head. “So not a woman.” Why did males have trouble understanding the difference between boys and men, or girls and women? “Would you like to? I can feel you heating up for me.”

His sharp intake of breath tickled across her neck lightly. “I-I… maybe. I don’t know.”

He was endearing in his nervous indecision. Scared to accept what he desired, just like Barsad had told them. She petted over his crotch, quick, light strokes of her fingers that had him moaning softly, nuzzling her neck until his hips jerked enthusiastically to meet her hand. It was an incredible temptation to hop up onto the dressing table, to slide her dress up and guide John between her legs, take him in then and there. She could already feel herself growing wet at the idea, but there was something to be said for making a family moment more than just a quick job in a changing room, even as delightful as she knew it would be.

She kissed his cheek lightly, savoring the little shiver that ran through him. “I think you would, John. I think we should find out tonight. I am certain Bruce is available, too… Let us have you finally, tonight. Let us all be together.”

There was hesitation, then a small nod against her cheek. She drew him back and gave him a kiss, straightening his clothes once more, helping to adjust him so his arousal was slightly less noticeable, though if one looked it was written in the rosy red of his cheeks and ears.

“These look good. You should wear them out. Plus, it will most likely be more comfortable than changing for you, now.”

He groaned and gave her a little push. She laughed and swatted his arm in return. “Come along, then.”

The deep breaths he took did nothing to calm the flush in his cheeks, but she did grant him a small mercy by giving him her purse to hold strategically in front of himself. She purchased many of the outfits they had picked out, and purposefully did not allow him to hear or see the total for the purchase. He was overwhelmed enough as it was.


	45. Chapter 45

Who are you calling?” He snatched his keys out of her hand, thief, and slipped into the car, shifting around more than a little uncomfortably. The pants Talia had chosen for him were a little too snug at the moment, and he felt awkwardly on display.

She merely looked amused at his antics. “Bruce.”

Oh. He shifted a little more. To tell him to come over for the night, for something he may or may not have just agreed to while Talia was stroking his dick. Was it too late to change his mind about that? He watched her through the window, speaking softly. He probably could. Did that mean he wanted to?

He fiddled around with the keys, instead, and waited for her to get in. He didn’t want to.

They spoke a little about what Talia did as Miranda Tate. It was interesting, if not a little confusing, but Talia had the same talent that Tommy had in breaking down complex ideas in a way that made them easier to understand. He couldn’t help but wonder who had learned it from whom. Talking was helping, the whole day had been helping, actually, and he was grateful for that. He couldn’t let himself get worked up over something when he didn’t even know how serious it was. It couldn’t be that serious, could it? If it was, surely they would have plastered Josh’s face all over the news, and one of them would know about it.

Stop thinking about it.

Talia glanced over at him and lightly touched his leg. “What happened today, John?”

“Nothing.” He tried to keep his eyes on the road, his voice steady. “It just, it brought up a lot of stuff.”

“Things you have been trying very hard not to think about.”

“Yeah, that.”

“We know it is not easy, John. We are very proud of how you have adjusted.”

He snorted. “Adjusted? I repress everything. I still have panic attacks, and I still explode whenever you guys take me to that boat.”

“Yes, of course; did you think any of that would stop? There is no magic button, John. You won’t suddenly stop being angry or traumatized simply because you have found a family. The mind does not work in such a way.”

“I just want to be able to move on,” he confessed, gripping the steering wheel tightly. That had always been his problem. It was why he went from foster parent to foster parent, why he got tossed around the system, why he was so damn angry sometimes. He couldn’t just move on, and sometimes it hurt. He was used to people trying to help him when he was young, waiting for him to “get better,” but honestly, he had given up on that, and knew that this was as better as he got, and goddamn it, he was scared that they were going to realize that, too.

“But you cannot. How could you? Something was stolen from you. There is no “moving on,” there is only living. It is not important to us that you try to escape you past. You will be happy many times, John, and sad or angry many times, as well. That is who you are, and most likely who you will always be.”

Thank God he was pulling into the garage, because he couldn’t have this conversation and keep the car on the road at the same time. He jammed the stick into park and let his head drop onto the steering wheel. “It’s not fucking fair. I just, I want to be normal. I want to be fucking NORMAL.”

Fingers curled into his hair and she guided him to her shoulder. He wasn’t going to fucking cry about his damn life, he wasn’t a child, but it was more of a near thing than he cared to admit. He took a shaky breath, and she quieted him by trailing her fingers down along the nape of his neck again and again. Josh was right, she was soothing , which was weird because she scared him the most; maybe it was the strange juxtaposition, seeing her dark side go gentle only for her family, for him. A quiet noise of approval came from her when he took a deeper breath and settled.

“Thanks for going out with me today.”

“You are welcome, little songbird.”

He went still and pulled back from her. “How the fuc—”

Her twinkling laughter filled the car. “Oh, John, of course I know. Bruce and I looked into you, of course. I don’t know why you don’t use it. It is very sweet.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t fucking use it.”

“You should reconsider.”

He bristled at the thought. “No way… Oh God, does Josh know?”

“We did not tell him, no, or Tommy, though Bane thought it was rather entertaining.”

“…Won’t Tommy know if Bane does?”

“Not always. It is not as if Bane can’t keep a secret.”

“That is creepy as fuck.”

“You are feeling better.” She stroked his cheek and gave him a light kiss. “They try to give one another personal time unless something is amiss, or if one wishes the other to see.  When Bane took you, for instance...” She smirked and brushed her thumb over his lip. “Bane wanted Tommy to see every second of that.”

Oh Jesus Christ. She kissed him again, laughing at his stunned silence. “Come along.”  She scooped up several of the bags, toeing at him with her shoe when he tried to take them. “I am quite certain I am capable.”

At least he was well trained enough not to make a comment about how the man should be the one carrying the bags. He only had to bite it back a bit and open the door for them.

She dropped them onto the counter and kicked off her heels, sliding out of her coat with the same fluid motion.

“You’re always anxious to get those off.”

“You should try wearing them. You would understand.” She stepped into the living room and John tried not to gawk as she slipped her bra off from under her dress. “Hm… Where shall we make love tonight? I fear with five we may fall off the bed.”

“We are not ‘making love’.” He made a face.

“Oh, but we are. Do you prefer it in cruder terms? Very well.” She padded back over to him and ran her fingers across his cheek. “Where shall I ride you tonight, John?”

He swallowed dryly. “I-I don’t know.”

“I think we should get the blankets, move the couch and lay them by the fireplace. That is how we welcomed Bruce into our bed, the first time. You could join him in the same manner.”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked a little which was terribly embarrassing. Even with everything that had happened, though, Talia talking so matter of factly about the idea of them all having sex together that night felt completely unreal. “Yeah, ok.”

He helped her arrange things until the room, with the soft crackling and warmth of the fire and the blankets laid out, seemed inviting and more than a little romantic, which made him feel a little flushed and a lot silly. He was romantic with Josh, sometimes, not other people, not even this crazy family he had now, and if they didn’t stop using terms like ‘making love’ or all of this romantic nonsense, then John was just going to keep on feeling silly and like a teenage girl when he wasn’t a fucking girl and didn’t need to be romanced. He wasn’t at all feeling like he had butterflies in his stomach, or sort of warm and flushed in the head, nope, not at all. He was just going to go take a shower and try not to jerk off.

“Perhaps I’ll join you,” Talia spoke thoughtfully when he mentioned his intentions. He groaned a little and she laughed. “Go. Do not think about touching yourself.” Her tone was playful but scolding. “You will need energy.”

“I wasn’t GOING TO,” he huffed and went to shower. As he scrubbed, he couldn’t make himself calm down, having to turn the water on a little colder than usual. All five of them, this was happening. He’d kind of fallen into sexy times with Tommy after the whole inadvertent fucking from Bane, accidental dickings there. This was planned, he had pre-agreed to this, made reservations and everything, and fuck, he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Bruce was built solid as a rock like Tommy, and that was so much more intimidating, two giants taking turns with him… Ok, he was going to have to stop thinking about that if he was going to listen to Talia and not touch himself. Maybe he was ok with that. Talia, though…

That was more than a little nerve inducing. He had maybe been sort of exaggerating when he’d said he’d been with a girl or two. It had maybe been one girl, one time, and he wasn’t sure if it counted if you came the second you put the tip of your dick against her hole. Fuck if he was going to admit that, though, so it was totally going to have to count. Totally wasn’t a virgin in the whole girls department thing. Nope.

He kept scrubbing, feeling almost like he was getting his body ready for them as some sort of twisted sacrifice.

And he totally didn’t touch himself.

_______________

The house felt warmer than usual when they stepped inside. It was an unexpected treat with the weather having suddenly turned from tentatively warming up outside to a sudden cold snap. He smiled at Tommy when he heard the soft crackling of the fire from the living room. Talia had come to visit; she and Tommy were the only ones who tended to start a fire. Tommy returned his smile and ran his thumb lightly over the back of his neck. It had only been a few days, but Talia had a tendency to listen to her wandering heart without a goodbye, knowing she would return soon enough, so it was a nice surprise to know she had not vanished.

“Go greet her. I will put away our things.” He took the bag, and Barsad was more than happy to do just that. He playfully wrapped his arms around her from behind, knowing the chances of truly startling her were very slim, indeed. Instead, she laughed softly and placed her hands over his arms.

“Good hunting?”

“Very, thank you.” He nuzzled past her soft hair so he could place a kiss on her neck. “What is happening?”

“John and I spent the day together…” her reply was trailed off in a suggestive manner that made him groan softly at the possibilities.

“Did you?” He brushed her hair out of the way and grazed his teeth playfully against the crook of her neck, smiling at her sigh.

“I did. He has finally agreed. I knew I would have to do the seducing myself.” He could hear more than see the amused twist in her lips. “So, should I keep to my word from before? Keep him all to myself for a while?”

He hummed softly in consideration and wrapped his hands around her hips, trailed them down the fancy material of her dress until he brushed the smooth skin of her thigh. “I suppose you did warn us, sister.” He walked his fingers playfully up her inner thigh and ran them in a feather light stroke over the soft cotton of her panties. “Though… we would be very grateful indeed if you shared.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled at the quiet, pleased gasp she made when he slipped under her panties and stroked her directly. She was wet there already, no doubt having been thinking of how they would all be together tonight. He felt himself hardening from the thought of it, as well, and pulled her more tightly to his body. She squirmed slightly as his fingers played, rubbing her soft curves back against him so he could feel her warmth against his cock even through their clothing.

His name left her lips in a low throaty murmur when he delved a pair of fingers into her sweet wetness and pumped them into her gently. He smiled at how her thighs shook ever so slightly, knowing she would deny such a thing and scold him for ever suggesting she would do something so weak as ‘quiver’ for them. Her nails dug into his forearm and scratched up it, a silent order to not even think of teasing her. He grinned and licked playfully at the hollow behind her ear. Sometimes things were worth a little bit of scolding when one knew they were of the few who could get away with such things. He drew the pad of his thumb around her clit in a slow circle, delighting in the way her hips rocked greedily at him. “I am not certain we should start without them, sister…” He let his breath puff over the damp spot he had left behind her ear as he nibbled playfully at her lobe. “It seems in bad taste.”

“A-Ah.” Her breath hitched when he skated his thumb over her nub lightly. “Barsad, perhaps you have grown TOO comfortable with me, but you are right,” her words were teasing, though, and he grinned as she made a slightly disappointed noise when he drew his hand back and she twisted around to kiss him. “Much too comfortable.”

He would never tell her how cute her nose looked when it wrinkled just slightly in reproval before she kissed him. There was such a thing as too far. He would, however, stroke down the bridge of it lightly with his clean fingertip and smile at the thought.

“I would say he’s getting too big for his britches,” Bruce’s hand was suddenly cupping his hip, squeezing him tight, “but he’s still so tiny.”

He huffed in mock indignation as Bruce met Talia in a kiss over his shoulder. He was not that small. His brothers were simply giants, and he knew they happened to find his more slight body quite enjoyable. “I am not so little, brother, that I cannot make you cry out for me,” he informed him happily, and slipped into their kiss, teasing at their lips with his tongue until Bruce opened for him, and he stole him playfully from Talia, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and grinning at her false sulk.

“John is in the shower. Where is Tommy?”

Barsad pulled away with a final kiss and sighed when Bruce’s fingers scratched affectionately through his beard. “He went to put away the bags.”

“I’ll go inform him of what’s happening.” He patted Barsad’s cheek. “And we can gather up John. This looks nice, by the way.”

He nodded in agreement. It was perfect. He had been told of their first time with Bruce, and he recognized why it would feel right like this. They had many times been without a bed, and found their rest together on whatever bedding they could gather. He dropped down gracefully and took Talia’s hand, pulling her down and into his lap, working the strap of her dress down to mouth over the silky skin of her shoulder.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MERRY OT5MAS EVERYONE. Ok since Tomorrow is Christmas for me I probably won't be updating but tonight you are getting an exceptionally long exceptionally smutty chapter so I trust all will be well. ;)

 “Asshole!”

Bruce laughed; tugging back the shower curtains had treated him to an undignified yelp of shock as John attempted to cover himself out of instinct. Tommy stood in the doorway and shook his head, watching quietly.

“Squeaky clean?”

“Screw you,” John mumbled, and yanked the towel out of his hand, wrapping it around himself tightly. He was nervous, it was obvious. Bruce figured he had every right to be; they were going to wreck him. “Should I even bother getting dressed?”

“Something, perhaps, so you feel less vulnerable.” Tommy considered him for a moment. “And not appear quite so nervous.”

“I’m NOT nervous,” John shot back, and pushed past them into the bedroom, combing his fingers through his wet hair and ignoring him as he tugged on a pair of black cotton shorts and a matching t-shirt. It wasn’t hard to see the way his fingers twitched when he smoothed the shirt down over his stomach.  Tommy walked up behind him and took hold of them, placing a firm kiss against his knuckles.

“There is no need to hide yourself.”

John made a face and tugged his hand away. “I’m FINE. I asked for it, didn’t I? I agreed to it, and I’m ready.”

“We might be a little more convinced if you weren’t flushed from head to toe,” Bruce pointed out, and John’s gruffness finally broke.

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “What the hell did I agree to?”

His shoulders stiffened when Tommy’s fingers went to them, but they loosened slowly when he kneaded into the muscle there, digging in until John sighed and his hands dropped down, his head drooping forward. “You are not being forced, John. If you wish to not join us, the choice is yours.” Tommy’s fingers worked up slowly and squeezed tightly at the back of his neck, making him shudder. “But I truly doubt that that is your desire. Come, we will make you forget your apprehension.”

“Y-yeah ok.” His voice was barely a whisper.

It was pretty adorable, actually, just how shy John suddenly seemed. His usual snarking and bristliness had clearly momentarily abandoned him as Tommy guided him into the living room. His eyes locked onto Barsad and Talia. Talia’s dress had become unzipped, no doubt by Barsad’s clever fingers, and it was slipping down both shoulders now, just exposing the curves of her breasts as Barsad cupped them  in his hands and kissed across her bare back. Barsad looked up and his eyes lit up to see John there.

“Why don’t you come sit with me, sweetheart?”

Bruce held back a chuckle at the softly mumbled “Jesus Christ” under John’s breath as he stood still until Tommy prodded him over to the bedding, guiding him down onto it with him. Bruce was more than happy to follow, and busied himself with working off his business clothes, knowing it would take the longest.

_______________

John’s heart was thudding heavily beneath his hand. Tommy could feel it even through his shirt. He was near jumpy just from the kiss Tommy placed on the back of his neck to calm him. Talia laughed softly and leaned forward to stroke John’s cheek. “You look like a rabbit.”

He snorted, but the fact that he did not retort proved just how true their sister’s statement was. Barsad leaned forward with his sister and kissed at John tenderly. “It is alright, sweetheart.”

“I KNOW that, stop treating me like I’m nervous, because I’m not nervous, I’m fine, and all of you talking about me being nervous is going to make me start thinking that there’s a reason I should be nervous, and it might start making me nervous,” John babbled.

Clearly he was not nervous at all. Tommy looked at him fondly and had to hold back a chuckle. Instead, he took hold of his shoulder. “Lie down for us, John.”

John swallowed heavily and nodded, settling back onto the blankets. His eyes stayed on Talia and Barsad, however, as they kissed fervently. Talia undressed Barsad, tugged off his shirt and unlooped his belt, tossing both aside and tugging the edge of his jeans until he relented and moved her off of him, reclining her onto the blankets so she could work them off of him, as well, until he was bare for her. Her own state of undress was haphazard, her breasts finally exposed when her dress gave in to gravity’s call. It had ridden up past her thighs, exposing the smooth flesh there and delicate green panties. Barsad ran his hand up her calf and looked over at John. “Shall I show you how to please her, John?”

“I-I know how to fuck a girl,” he snapped out tensely in response. Tommy was about to reprimand him for being crude, but Bruce suddenly laughed and dropped down to kneel beside him, bare, now.

“No, you don’t.”

John jerked his head towards him and stared. Bruce laughed again and reached to run a quick hand through John’s hair. “You don’t. Do you know how many guys I’ve seen make that claim when I was in school? You have the exact same look as any of them.”

“FUCK you, Bruce. I have so.”

Tommy shook his head. It was clear they were about to get into an argument. “Enough. It does not matter if, as you claim, you know how to please ‘a girl,’ this is our sister and she is not simply some girl. You will learn how to please her like she and Bruce will learn about your body and how to please you.”

John mumbled, Barsad nodded in agreement, Bruce smirked, Tommy couldn’t help but assume his brother was quite correct in the assessment of ‘virgin,’ and Talia simply looked bored with the discussion. She slid her hands into Barsad’s hair and pulled him down towards her. He whispered an apology and kissed down her throat, nuzzling and playfully rubbing his beard against her at times that made her both laugh and gasp in desire when he brushed over sensitive spots.

“Mm, silly lambkin,” she sighed happily, and stroked his hair when he kissed down to her thigh.

John was, needless to say, distracted.

Tommy decided to use that to his advantage. While John watched Barsad slowly sliding Talia’s panties down her thighs, he knelt above John’s head and used his own hands to slip down John’s stomach, making him jump and jerk his attention back towards him suddenly.

“It is just me, John, may I?”

He nodded, his breathing quickening, and when Talia moaned softly his attention snapped back over towards her. His eyes met Bruce’s, and they shared an amused look. This had just become a game, and their family did enjoy games from time to time.

Barsad’s head was settled between his sister’s thighs, now. Her hand gripped tightly into his hair as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and nuzzled her womanhood. He placed a wet kiss to the soft curls there before he swiped his tongue across her lips. John’s breathing was nearly as fast as Talia’s as Barsad played at her with his tongue. Her cries were muted things; the biting of her lower lip prevented most of them from emerging. Tommy smiled at how rosy-cheeked John looked from viewing them. Bruce watched, too, and it took a moment for them both to remember the game. He worked the shirt off of John. He was still slightly damp from the shower, and it clung to him until it was peeled off and discarded.

Bruce patted John’s calf. “Give me some room to work.” He gave his legs a slight push to part them, and John’s attention was back on them again as Bruce settled down to kneel between his legs, flashing John a smile. “Calm down.”

“F-fuck you.” Bruce only smiled more at the stammer. He was breathing so quickly, however; it would not do to send him into a panic. He eased his hands onto John’s belly, feeling the warmth from his hands seep into John’s damp skin.

“Just breathe, John. Relax and breathe.”

Bruce’s hands came up to rest near his, and they splayed their fingers together. He dragged his in a slow caress up John’s chest, making sure one finger slipped just across his nipple in a feathery touch. Working in tandem with him, Bruce trailed his fingers down, sliding past his cock without a touch to the cloth that covered it, then to the crux of his thighs, bunching the fabric of John’s shorts so he could caress and push his thumbs firmly against the sensitive flesh there. Tommy smirked slightly when could feel the muscles in John’s body jump and twitch under his touch. John gasped as he pushed up with his legs, his hips arched up slowly from the floor, trying to follow the electric touch of their fingers.

They stroked and pet over him with that tantalizingly slow touch until John’s skin was glowing with pleasure and the reflection of the fire as his focus kept drifting back and forth from Barsad and Talia’s play to Bruce and Tommy’s touch, unable to settle and focus on only one. His breathing alternated from quick pants that made his whole body shiver to long, shaky inhales whenever Tommy coaxed him into breathing. He whimpered finally, and rocked his hips up a bit more when Bruce skimmed past his shorts once more, not touching where it was so clear John wanted to be touched. His hand drifted up uncertainly before it sank back down and gripped onto the blankets.

Tommy could not hold back a low chuckle when he skimmed his nail along John’s throat and saw the hesitant action repeated. “Do you want to touch yourself, John?” He smiled at his heated face, the clouded look in John’s eyes when he bit his lip and nodded. “No one is stopping you. Show us.”

Barsad lifted up then, his lips smeared and glistening. Talia ruffled his hair and they looked over at John together, smiling. “Show them, sweetheart. You look so nice when you touch yourself.”

John groaned, looking embarrassed, but couldn’t seem to keep his hand from shooting up quickly. Tommy grabbed his wrist, getting a confused noise. “Slowly.”

“Fuck slowly.” John squirmed and tugged at his wrist.

“Slowly,” he repeated firmly. “Or not at all.”

John muttered and pulled again. “Ok, ok.”

Tommy knew he could feel all of their eyes on him, and he squirmed at the thought, shyness getting the better of him enough that he closed his eyes as he slowly slid his fingers down his shorts, letting out a soft cry as his fingers brushed over his cock. He had to be so sensitive now from their teasing of his body, and his cock was straining taut the cloth that surrounded it, wetness showing through the thin material. John squirmed, and when it looked like he might try to jerk himself off quickly, Tommy caught his wrist again.

“Slow.”

“I’m fucking TRYING,” he whined out, but he stayed slow, slow enough that with their combined touches it had to be torture to him, and he swore and pled softly. “Please, come on, just let me go faster, come ON.”

“Slow.”

“I fucking HATE you right now,” he spat out, then whimpered when Bruce plucked both of his wrists and pinned them down to the blankets.

“SOMEONE’S not happy.”

Tommy could tell John was about to let loose a series of expletives, so he cut it off by bending low and slotting their mouths together, pushing his tongue forcefully between John’s lips. He kissed back desperately, and chased after Tommy’s lips when he pulled back to look at him.

“If you need something else to focus on, John, you needed only to ask.” John’s eyes widened when he caught the sound of Tommy unzipping his pants.

_______________

Was it possible to die from heat overload? His brain was fucking melting and his shorts weren’t even off.  He was absolutely going to die if they didn’t do something about that soon.

R.I.P., Robin John Blake: cause of death, Orgasm Denial.

He swirled around the tip of Tommy’s cock, rubbing his lips against him and sucking him into his mouth with an eagerness he wasn’t anywhere near able to hide. He needed SOMETHING; his cock was aching, and the feeling of fabric brushing it whenever he pushed his hips up just wasn’t enough. Tommy was now rubbing just shy of him there, and he jerked at his fingers when he pinched the skin on his hip. He knew he had to sound ridiculous; he couldn’t stop the soft whines leaving his mouth, muffled even as they were by Tommy’s cock.

He could hear Talia’s soft laughter, and his eyes flew open. She and Josh had stopped their own play, and were on either side him now. He shuddered when their hands joined in on the touches. Too much, Talia’s fingers were scratching and Josh’s knew him better than anyone else’s. He dug his fingers and possibly his toes into the blankets even while Bruce kept his wrists pinned, jackass.

“Look at you, sweetheart.” Josh ran his thumb over his cheek while he sucked, making his eyelids lower. Yeah, look at him, surrounded by psychopaths, about to get gangbanged and more than a little excited about it. God, he really needed to stop having thoughts like that flit through his mind. Josh leaned over his body and licked at his lips, his tongue sliding down Tommy’s cock then back up to place a kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. “You look so good. Are you ready? This time it’s going to be all about you. We’re going to each take a turn with you, get you going for us, and you’re going to feel so good.”

He moaned loudly and shook his head, pulling back from Tommy. “There’s no way.” It was one thing for them all to be doing some sort of weird orgy together in bed, but he couldn’t actually have individual sex with all four of them. He was only human, and it was four against one, and what if one of them wanted to go more than once? Nope. That just wasn’t going to work.

Josh laughed, and it was not a fun laugh. It was the laugh he chuckled when he thought John said something really adorable and cute but he was about to prove him very wrong. Bad laugh. Bad.

“You don’t think you can keep up, sweetheart?” His voice was sympathetic in a way that totally wasn’t sympathetic at all. He kissed his ear and whispered lowly into it, “We’ll just have to get everything we can out of you then, won’t we? We have all night.”

He might have whimpered at that. Thank God it was covered up by the kiss Josh gave him. Josh’s lips were still wet, and he licked over them curiously, tasting Talia while he was sure Josh could taste Tommy on his. All of those tastes on his tongue, all of those hands still touching over him, Josh kissing him, well, he was starting to wonder if he even needed to get his dick touched because he was feeling dangerously close to coming already. Josh pulled back and gave him a relaxed smile. “Yeah, you’re ready.”

Bruce finally unpinned his wrists, and John smacked at his hands as they retreated before he shoved his shorts down and off then flipped over. He ignored the chuckles that got. What? If they were going to kill him he was going to pick the position he was going out on.

He began to question the position when Bruce started to work him open, sliding slick fingers into him with a firm, steady pressure that, after all of the teasing, felt too real and too good. His mouth dropped open and an obscenely wanton moan left it as he tried to shove back at his fingers. Bruce’s palm smacked down sharply on his ass, making him curse and sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock.

“Greedy. Hold still.”

“J-Just fucking hurry up. And if you spank me again, I swear to Go—Nn!” He yelped at the second sharper smack and craned his neck to glare at Josh who smiled far too innocently.

Bruce laughed and pressed another finger into him. John made a choked noise but held still, not wanting another smack.

“Good boy.”

He was going to kill Bruce.

Right after he came apart from his fingers. They were graceful like Josh’s but thicker like Tommy’s, and the man knew how to use them. He rubbed John’s inner walls, and he clenched around him with a whine, grunting when they brushed slickly over the bundle of nerves in him, and the slow rush of blood in his ears became pounding, making it harder to hear and focus.

“I could go first, instead, you know?” Bruce suggested mildly, and before John could shake his head, he twisted right against his prostate, rough enough that he jerked forward and cried out. “Just a suggestion.”

“John gets to pick first.” Talia’s fingers ran down his spine, her smooth nail ghosting down his perineum and making him still when she rubbed against his rim, pleasure rippling through him as she traced the sensitive nerves there and played at working her finger in with Bruce’s before drawing it back. “Who will it be?”

“J-Josh.” He might have stammered, but there was no hesitation there. If he was going to do this, he needed Josh first, needed how soothing and familiar he was, because he was so out of his league here it was terrifying. Bruce retreating and Josh pushing into him with a pleasured sigh was pure relief. The burn heated him up, but the sweetness of Josh’s hands on his hips and the gentle kiss of reassurance to the back of his neck were like a cool breath over his skin, soothing and wonderful.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you. I’m going to make you feel so good for me,” Josh promised him. He thrust into him smoothly, filling him up so perfectly. Josh always made him feel so full. Little gasps and soft noises were falling from his lips with every push. When his hand wrapped around his cock, warm and slippery with lube, and gave him a slick stroke from root to tip, he cried out his name, rocked back against him blissfully. Josh pushed deeper, and John exhaled sharply, grabbed the blankets tightly and tried to stop sounding ridiculous as he chanted out Josh’s name softly.

His family’s hands were still on his body, rubbing down his spine, stroking through his hair. Tommy’s cock was close to his lips and he wanted to suck on him again, it would at least keep him quiet, but he couldn’t quite reach and also couldn’t quite form actual words to get Tommy to move closer.

“Listen to you pant, John. You will come for him soon, won’t you?” Talia asked, sounding so approving of the thought.

He nodded. He was ready, Josh’s hand was working him faster, the friction against his cock was making his belly clench and he couldn’t rock when his hips began to jerk and spasm without his permission. He was hopelessly gone, felt himself coiling tight suddenly and snapping when he heard Josh’s breathy groan behind him and felt his hips push forward roughly as he lost himself in John.

His arms were shaking when Josh pulled out of him and lay down beside him, settling John on his side and stroking his hair by his temple, his own eyes looking even softer in his afterglow. “Always so good, sweetheart.”

John mumbled, or maybe it was just gibberish, but he wrapped his arms around Josh and kissed him. Josh parted his lips for him and while their tongues played he could feel hands stroking over his body.

“I knew they would look precious like this,” Talia spoke with satisfaction in her tone. Her hands petted down his legs. “Very sweet, indeed.”

They kissed, just like that for a while as they recovered. He could almost forget that they weren’t alone then, were it not for the gentle touching to his body. It was soothing, though, and he relaxed and savored the moments passing between them until Josh’s sudden moan vibrated against his lips and he opened his eyes to see Tommy behind him, obviously doing wicked things to Josh’s ass if the way he suddenly squirmed and tilted his head back were any indication. Sometimes he wished he could just let go like Josh did; he took everything beautifully, gave it out just as well, and he never seemed skittish or hesitant, just wonderful and open. He nibbled at his bottom lip as Josh cried out softly and rocked his hips at him. His cock slid up against John’s, and he moaned in response. He delved his hand between their bodies and wrapped his hand around them both. They moved their hips together, rubbing back and forth in John’s increasingly slippery grip.

“I’m pretty sure he’s ready for more.”

John opened his eye, and focused on the blurry hand motions going on over Josh’s shoulder. “Are… are you guys seriously rock, paper, scissoring to see who goes next? Oh, fuck you all.”

Josh laughed breathlessly and nipped his chin. “Shh, you would rather hear them argue? They would debate for hours, and you wouldn’t be getting all of that nice attention we want to give you,” he crooned out teasingly, and caressed his hand down his side.

Bruce won. He announced it triumphantly and placed a hand on John’s hip, rolling him away from Josh and onto his back, ending their touch suddenly and making John bite back a complaint at the loss of contact. Bruce smiled overhead and dipped down for a kiss. “Don’t worry. You’ll have fun.”

So then he was kind of having sex with Bruce Wayne. Who was more than willing to take what he wanted. He wasn’t sure when he ended up with his legs high over Bruce’s shoulders, his body nearly doubled as Bruce hammered into him with smooth, steady strokes, but yeah, that, that was happening, and he couldn’t keep from crying out. Bruce talked to him in a low murmur the whole time, placing an occasional kiss to the side of his knee.

“You feeling ok there, John?”

He grunted and bit his tongue.

“If you’re not feeling ok, I can slow down for you,” Bruce’s words were practically a low purr as he watched John reacting, so confident and, God, John hated it as much as he loved it, and every ripple of pleasure that Bruce was forcing out of him.

“Oh, f-fuck! Shut up, shut UP,” he grunted, feeling himself shoved back on the blankets a bit with a harder push. If he couldn’t make words right, he wasn’t going to let Bruce make conversation. He felt Bruce’s chuckle and he slowed his pace, making John bite at his tongue again in frustration. “No, no, keep going like that.”

“I don’t want to leave you too sore.” He kissed his knee and leaned forward more. John’s thighs were bordering on cramping, but the way Bruce was gliding into him so deeply felt too phenomenal to worry about whether he was going to be able to walk in the morning. Every fucking thing that the newspapers whispered about Bruce’s prowess was completely and utterly founded, and fuck him, really, because that wasn’t fair. His ass was bordering on sore when he felt Bruce’s movements become more stuttering and could feel the warmth joining Josh’s inside of him.

When Bruce slid out of him, he figured that would be the end of ‘his turn,’ and even though he was on the edge he was almost relieved because maybe Tommy or Talia could go next and they could forget this crazy orgasming with each person thing. Except that when he lowered John’s legs slowly flat on the ground, Bruce wasted no time in dropping back down to suck John into his mouth. The sudden hot tongue swiping across his tip pulled a shocked cry out of him and he maybe sort of yanked roughly on Bruce’s hair, shoving his hips up and not feeling all that sorry about it when he pretty much came down his throat quite suddenly. Oops. Fucker.

Bruce didn’t seem all too bothered, though, and John was having a hard time feeling annoyed after having an orgasm sucked out of him, so he flopped his arms back a bit and panted instead, sighing when Bruce kissed up his body and smiled at him.

“Not bad, huh?”

Not bad at all.

Talia nuzzled his cheek and he groaned. “Uh-uh.”

She laughed softly and her fingers traced over his chest, flicking at a nipple and making him fidget a little. “No?”

“Uh-uh.”

“That’s cute.” She laughed softly and pulled him up to sit, clearly not listening at all. “But it’s Tommy’s turn.”

“Fuck.” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice. He could hear the low rumble of Tommy’s laugh just behind him. His cock gave a traitorous little twitch of interest at the desire it heard there.

“I’m sure I can persuade your body into taking an interest again. It responds so well for me.”

John was pretty sure he could, too, and that was the problem, especially when his family was more than willing to lend a helping hand. Josh guided his head into his lap, and he whined, flopping against him and curling up on his side. Part of him wanting to be done and part of him was so curious about everything they were offering him, what it would be like to slide into Talia, feeling Tommy push into him and fill him deep like he knew he would. He was tired already, though, and slippery and worked open. He could feel Bruce and Josh dripping out of him already.

He dug his nails tightly into Josh’s thigh when Tommy began to push into him, stretch his tender opening wide once more. Josh soothed him gently, wiped away the sweat beading at his brow and whispered little encouragements. Tommy coaxed and prodded him back to his knees, his head still pillowed against Josh’s thigh, his arms bent and clutching at him tightly.

Tommy draped himself over his back, and his weight felt so good against him, his heat soaking into his skin. He was so hot, but Tommy’s burning skin still felt right. He was crushing him against Josh’s lap as he kissed just behind his ear, and John let out a broken moan at the now familiar feeling of Tommy bottoming out inside of him.

Tommy’s lips brushed hot and slick over the shell of his ear. Heat was flooding down to his groin again, his cock was swelling and twitching much too quickly, his skin felt prickly everywhere from his nerves and the heat.

“How do you want me, John?”

He shoved his thumb into his mouth and bit down, a low hiss of air escaping as his mouth tried to betray him. He heard the laugh behind him as Tommy tugged his thumb away. “I said, how do you want me, John?”

He whimpered. “H-hard.” So hard that he would feel it for days, so fast it left him breathless, so deep that he never forgot how it felt to be so full of any of them. Tommy listened. Tommy went hard. His cock rubbed raw nerve endings, and John writhed from the shock of it. He shook his head, but all that escaped his mouth were “yes’s” and “please” over and over again. He could hear Josh talking to him, but it was so muffled and far away as he pet him gently, and John had no choice but to take and take and take. He felt like one giant nerve, every part of his body connected together and aching together in pleasure and blistering pain. When he came, he was soundless for it, his eyes going wide and sightless for a moment, his body tight like a bowstring as he painted the sheets with a few hot stripes of come. He went boneless then, slumped and so pliant in Josh’s lap as Tommy thrust his slick hole faster. John could faintly hear his low sigh of satisfaction when he filled him, and Josh ruffled his hair.

“So beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Nmph.” He was done. Just done. Tommy left him and Josh laid him out gently on his back. Talia would just have to wait, because doing a fourth in such a short period of time was unthinkable at the moment. Josh smiled down at him, his eyes practically twinkling in the firelight, and John smiled a bit stupidly at him. The smile left when Josh’s hand slipped between his legs and rubbed up his thigh slowly.

“J-Josh.” He wasn’t sure if his tone was a warning, a complaint, or a plea for mercy; possibly all three. A single slender finger brushed over his now well-used opening, touching into the mess of come that had been left there by all three of them. He hissed a little and squirmed, but Josh rubbed across the over-sensitized ring of muscles still, making the nerves there pulse and filling him with a sense of near dread even while he shifted his legs apart just slightly.

“Did you wash up all clean for me in the shower, sweetheart?”

Fuck. He felt his stomach flip flop and his cock twitch. “W-why?”

“You know why.”  Josh was already moving between his legs, rubbing his beard against his thigh, leaving a slightly pink trail from the bristle. He felt his eyes getting damp when Josh delicately flicked his tongue over him, licking up the absolute mess they had made of him of lube and come.

“Fuck, FUCK,” he sobbed out, his whole body shaking.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart; going to clean you up a little.” His voice was muffled slightly, and he paused to drag his tongue against him again, making John’s hips jerk and the flats of his palms smack down against the blankets. “You’re such a mess down here for us; you’ve got so much of us in you.”

Talia rubbed her thumb gently over his eyelashes as they clumped slightly with moisture. “You look so sweet, John.” He looked up at her helplessly, willing her to see that they were just doing TOO MUCH to him even if he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. Surely they had to see that they were going to fucking break him. She only smiled down at him. It was kind but it wasn’t gentle, and even with the fog wrapping around his brain he could tell it was more than a little predatory. Her fingers trailed up his cock, pressing it against his belly and guiding the head of it, now looking so red and tender from arousal and constant attention, down to rub wetly against his own skin.

Josh’s tongue was pressing insistently at him now, and he breached him a second later, so slippery and hot, but his gentleness soothed the raw burn they’d left in him and sparked a new fire in his belly; one he wanted to both fan the flames of and douse in a bucket of cold water. Talia’s thumb pressed tight against the slit of him, rubbing until he whimpered and finally rocked up for more of her touch even though most of his nerves were still screaming no. Too many were saying yes, and his instincts could only follow one order at a time, clearly choosing to foolishly go with the innate desire to fuck over self-preservation.

She tapped her fingers down over him and made him slap wetly against his own stomach. It only added to the sticky mess there. Josh was licking deep into him now, tongue pushing against his inner walls, and he could feel the brush of bristle against his most sensitive of nerves and desperately reached down to tug him back, the sensation painful at that point. Josh pulled back and John whimpered because that totally wasn’t a sign for Josh to stop completely, and now he was empty and sore, but hard and up and ready, even though he really shouldn’t be.

Josh placed a wet kiss there and sat back, smiling in satisfaction when he saw him hard again. “Are you ready for Talia, sweetheart?”

“He is.” John groaned and winced when Tommy pulled him up to see, too much pressure on his ass too soon, so he shakily shifted onto his knees.

 Talia patted his cheek and kissed him. “I am certainly ready for him.”

He felt a ridiculous nervous flutter when she slid into Tommy’s lap and Tommy ran his hands across her body, stroked and played with her breasts until she gasped softly and his fingertips ran the soft curve of her stomach to her thighs, parting them, holding her open and ready for John. He glanced around, and his eyes caught Bruce’s as he sensed his nervousness as much as he tried to hide it.

“Still going to say you’ve done it before?”

“I HAVE,” he protested, and then his shoulders drooped after a moment, feeling how stupid it was to be arguing over it. “I just, it didn’t last long enough for me to actually…”

“Oh, John.” He reddened in humiliation over Talia’s soft laugh. “You are like a virgin for me.”

“TOTALLY not,” he argued, but Bruce came up and knelt behind him, wrapped an arm around his chest and kissed the back of his neck.

“Come on, I’ll steer you around the curves, little brother.” He wanted to glower at the tease there, but he begrudgingly nodded, feeling excitement and apprehension. Bruce wrapped his hand around the base of him and guided him, made him stroke against the soft lips of Talia’s pussy, making her sigh and his own breath hitch. He teased them both, making John nudge against her, the head of him just breeching her, then pulling him back until his hips were jerking and he was filled with the desire to just push into her, feel her clasp around him. 

“So wet, isn’t she? She feels amazing,” Bruce breathed out the words against his ear, and John could hear the wonder in them, like Bruce knew exactly what he was feeling right now. Talia’s hands came to rest on his shoulders and she squirmed in Tommy’s grip, still held open and as vulnerable as she ever allowed herself to be, something she gave only to her family. She sighed restlessly and her head tilted back when Bruce eased his grasp on him, let him slip in deeper.

“That’s it, John, inside of me,” she encouraged, and when Bruce finally let go he was grabbing her hips himself, pushing into her with a low cry, feeling her nails dig sharply into him as she made a pleased sound. He rocked into her, fucked her, the rapid succession of orgasms meaning he was nowhere near losing it like he did when he was some dumb schoolboy. She clung to him, and he watched her hips undulate, the flush on her throat as she opened her mouth and panted. It was so different, but the motions were the same, and part of him just hoped it was ok for her, too. Bruce patted his back.

“Atta boy.”

Even he couldn’t help a snort of laughter at that, smiling when Talia smiled at him. He was so fucking tired, but the newness of this made it easier to stay alert for it, made him get an almost second wind, and he used it to thrust faster, unable to help a boyish grin when Talia cried out at the sudden change and rocked faster.

“Here…” Bruce took one of his hands from her hips and guided his thumb to her wet lips, pressing it there until John felt a hard nub of flesh beneath his thumb pad, and Talia gasped suddenly, her velvet heat gripping around him more. “Play there, nice and slow. You’ll get her coming in minutes if you do it right.”

Maybe he was determined to do it right.

He tried to focus there more, rubbing and circling, trying different pressures until Talia bit her lip. “Right there, John, just like that.” Her words were a harsh whisper, and he tried to keep it just like that as he thrust faster. She was so wet around him, and when she arched up, grinding against his fingers with a throaty moan, he felt her rippling around him. He wanted to lose himself with her, felt almost there, but he was flagging fast, unable to help the frustrated whine in his throat when he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it.

“Come on, John, you can do it,” she sighed softly, and her hands skimmed down his arms. “Come on.” He pressed onward, thrust faster, gracelessly, until he sighed with near relief, feeling himself able to topple over that edge. His climax made him shudder with the intensity as he dripped into her, not much left to give.

He let out a nearly giddy giggle as he slumped against her, having learned she was no lightweight and could take it. She laughed breathlessly and carded through his hair. He kissed the curve of her breast and smiled, nuzzled there playfully.  He was so fucking spent. Beyond.

He just let his mind float a bit, feeling delightfully muzzy as he heard some movement around him. Josh left and he could hear water running, probably to clean his mouth, which was good because he wanted a goodnight kiss after all of this. Bruce whispered something to Tommy who had released Talia’s thighs and was rubbing her shoulders now as she patted John’s back and neck. He was going to get up any minute now so he could lie back and sleep.  He felt boneless, all of his muscles loose and achy. He possibly dozed off for a moment, maybe more, then suddenly he was being pulled back to lie down by familiar hands, Josh’s, who kissed the sweat-slicked skin of his forehead.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Nmph ready for—” he stopped, brow furrowing in confusion when he heard a faint rasping sound, almost familiar, something he had heard before. He made the effort to move his head and then went rigid suddenly.

“Hello, little brother. It has been some time since our last, too brief, meeting.”

Bane.

Bruce must have brought the mask out, or Josh, but that didn’t matter, Bane was here now, kneeling down beside John’s body and giving him a terrifyingly fond look.  One he didn’t trust for anything. He hadn’t seen him since the basement, and it still was confusing and freaky as fuck, and oh God, Bane ran his hands down his hips. Everyone in the family wanted a go at him tonight to welcome him. EVERYONE. He shook his head frantically. There was no way. There was just no way.

Bane pressed a calloused thumb to his bottom lip and rubbed over the wetness there. “I could, I could suck you,” he offered, deliriously hopeful.

“You could, but that is not what I would like,” Bane answered back, managing to make it sound ever so reasonable that John should spread his legs open for him. “And I will have you how I would like you.”

He shook his head and Bane chuckled. “I will make you a small deal, little brother. Keep yourself soft while I touch you, and I will not enter you. I will content myself with your mouth.”

Oh, thank God. He was too fucking tired to get hard. He was in the clear here. “Fine, deal.”

He was a fucking idiot.

Bane was a ruthless conqueror. He touched every inch of him with a practiced ease. He was sure he couldn’t get hard. He was so fucking sure of it right up to the point where he felt the slightest of stirrings in his cock. He thrashed desperately at that, trying to worm away and get out of their deal, but he was pinned down by Bane’s large hand on his hip.

“What is this, little brother?” his tone was deceptively innocent as he rubbed his thumb against John’s hipbone. “Are you rising for me? Surely you are spent, as you said.”

“Oh Christ, please, PLEASE just let me suck you, PLEASE,” he pleaded. Dignity be damned. “It’ll hurt, it’ll fucking hurt.”

“A little, yes, but I will make sure you find your pleasure in it, as well.” Bane’s fingers ran through his hair, and he wanted to break down and cry, feeling overwhelmed when fresh lube was being pushed into him. It was chilly, and it helped a little to ease the burn in him. Bane leaned over him, and Josh was there peering over him. John looked up and whimpered at his upside down face.

“Josh…” He reached for him, and Josh took his hands, kissed each knuckle gently.

“Shhh, you’re ok. You’re ok, sweetheart. I know you’ve got one more in you for Bane.”

“Josh, I don’t. I CAN’T.” He was cut off by Josh kissing all over his lips, finally he gave in and nodded just a little, he just wouldn't come for it, that was all. Josh smiled against his lips, making soft little soothing noises that were drowned out by the low rumble of satisfaction that came when Bane took him deep. It was painful, but not unbearable, an echoing of the first time Bane had taken him. This time, he was mercifully slower, but no less deep, no less claiming with each rough thrust of his cock into him.  The thick tip of his cock worked his prostate, and he just wanted him to be done, he wanted to sleep so badly. He was so sore. But each of those strokes, fuck; he swore and bit his lip, shook his head when he heard Josh’s soft laugh.

“There you go, sweetheart. I know it’s so much, but you can do it,” he encouraged, and stretched his arm out, sliding it between their bodies and stroking over John’s cock and God help him, he wanted it then. He was trembling for it, but it was too hard. He was too tired, too sore, but they had all worked him carefully and now he was too desperate for it, as well. Josh stroked him, Talia and Bruce rubbed his arms and sides and Bane rutted into him, filled him up with each punishing stroke. Then it happened, and it hurt; it was an agonizing pleasure and blazing heat that tore through him and left him near convulsing  as he gave up the last bit he had for them, barely more than a dribble of come dripping down onto his stomach as he screamed hoarsely, cut off again by Josh’s gentle kiss. He was shaking and spent, and it was finally over.

He heard a growl of pleasure, and he was only vaguely aware that Bane had finished, too. Good. He could get the hell out of him, now. He panted and kissed Josh, his lips the only thing keeping him grounded on reality when Bane slid from him and stroked a surprisingly gentle finger down his cheek. “Well done, John.”

He whimpered, and Bane was gone, replaced by Tommy, and the mask was set aside. Tommy lay down beside him and gathered him up, and he was sweaty and more than a little sticky, but he couldn’t care one bit about it. Tommy ruffled his hair, and there was a wet cloth cleaning him. It felt so good against his heated skin, chilling it for a moment before the fire warmed it again. He dozed in and out until he was cleaned and settled down between them all, getting light caresses and more than one fond kiss from them before he dropped off into an exhausted sleep.


	47. Chapter 47

“I hate ALL of you,” John whined softly, his head pillowed in Barsad’s lap as he curled up on the couch and they watched TV.

“So, I’m assuming you don’t want to go again before I head to a meeting?” Bruce offered as he fixed up his tie.

“I hate you ESPECIALLY.” John pulled the blanket up over his face. Bruce just smiled and walked over to tug it down and kiss him.

“You’ll feel fine in a little while.”

John made such a face, but Barsad smiled when he brought his arms up anyway, to hug Bruce.

“Are you coming home tonight?”

Bruce returned the embrace and tucked the blanket back around him. “I’ll try.”

That seemed to satisfy John, and he went back to dozing while they watched the show. Talia and Tommy had left early after checking on John, who had woken up to being quite sore and more than a little bit of an emotional mess, the openness of the night before having dipped him into a mood swing, almost like a hangover. Barsad had heard them carry him to the bath and wash him more thoroughly than the night before, soaking the worst of the ache out of him and soothing him through his temper while he and Bruce cleaned up the living room. By the time they’d laid him out with him, all damp and sweet-smelling, he had gentled mostly, and wanted to tuck up as close as possible to Barsad, which suited him just fine.

When his phone rang, it was Talia checking in on them, mostly John, and he held the phone to John’s ear as he spoke in a sleepy mumble to her, sticking his tongue out at the phone at one point and arguing that he wasn’t lazy just because he hadn’t gotten up yet. The teasing did seem to wake him up a bit, though, and eventually he sat, mostly still wrapped up around Barsad. Barsad was not ashamed to admit he did nothing to discourage it. He was more than happy to spend the day in a lazy haze with John’s skin warm against his own; a sinful, but harmless, indulgence indeed.

“M’not lazy,” he muttered quietly against his chest.

“Go to school, then.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his head back to look down at him. His face looked clearer, emotionally drained, but in a good way that made him more honest and open.

“Yeah…  I wanna go back. I really do want to be a detective. I just…”

“It will work out if you want it to, John. I promise. We can talk about it when you graduate. We can talk about it before then, too, if you’d like, work something out, but the most important part is that you go back to school.”

John wrapped his arms around him more and he sighed. “Promise? Promise that it’s going to all work out?”

Barsad traced his fingers solemnly over John’s heart, feeling his own heart ache at the apprehension in John’s tone. “I promise.”

John’s arms tightened around him. “Ok. I’ll see about starting up again.”

He patted his back proudly and didn’t push for John to make the call today. He was still quite tired, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t do it in the next few days or so. They laid about more until, sore or not, John started to get a bit restless, and Barsad suggested they go somewhere for dinner.

“Isn’t Tommy going to make it?” John asked curiously. Barsad paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “Tommy’s going to be out for the night.”

“Out… all night? With Talia?” He sounded confused for a moment, then it seemed to click for him and he nodded a little. “Oh.”

Barsad couldn’t blame his confusion. Tommy rarely left the house for the night, but Talia’s hunt would be culminating that evening, and since she was in town for it, she and Bane had decided to go into it together, as they had not be able to do for long while. John was quieter for a few moments while he processed that. He could see different emotions flitting over his face, and he wished he could help, but he knew John did not wish to speak about who would die tonight, nor the wrongs they had done to the world, nor how much better it would be with them no longer in it. So he waited, instead, until John processed the information in the best way he could then nodded a little.

“He won’t be in bed tonight, then?”

“He might not be home for a few days. They weren’t expecting it to happen today, but plans changed suddenly.” He didn’t get into more detail than that, knowing it wasn’t wanted, but wanting John to understand that, under different circumstances, they would have at least warned him that Tommy might be gone for a couple of days depending on how he and Talia chose their game.

John’s muscles tightened, and Barsad kissed his cheek. “I’ll miss him, too, sweetheart. He’ll be home as soon as he can be, though.” He didn’t like the idea of Tommy being gone, either; it made him ache a little inside, and the dark in him simmer just slightly faster. It was manageable, though, with John there, and Bruce would most likely do all he could to join them. He hadn’t slipped again, not once since John had joined them, even though he’d felt close at times. With John there, though, he felt the need to watch it more closely, keep an even more careful eye on himself on a day-to-day basis, and he was able to take care of it as needed now. Bruce’s cave had become quite well used, now, by the three of them, and he was certain it was where Talia’s kill would be taken care of that night.

It felt almost right for them all to share it, even though they’d each had their own sites before. None of them even mentioned finding another. If anything, it drew them closer, just like John being in their lives had drawn them close once more. None of them could deny the effect John had, living in their house. He was a little light for them, and even though he would always be full of hot anger, it did not burn his family; they were too harsh to feel such flames as anything but warming.

It only made him more endearing to them, sweeter, that his greatest flaws were that he got angry, cursed, raged, and that his emotions broke him at times. Talia softened around him even more so than she did Barsad, sensing he needed it more, Bruce was more playful and less morose, Tommy had someone to lavish his affection on and John soaked in each gentle touch. Barsad knew he was like another little brother to them, and that they would do anything for him now, to keep him safe, to keep him with them. He was theirs now just as much as John was his, and Barsad hoped that John realized—or would, one day, at least—that they all belonged to him, too.

John just shrugged a little, too stubborn, even while loose and sleepy, to just say he would miss Tommy, too. Barsad just gave him an affectionate look because John was honestly never more adorable than when he was being sleepy and stubborn. Barsad was just wise enough never to mention it. “So, shall we go out? We could wait to see if Bruce is able to join us.”

John hesitated a moment then slipped his hand around Barsad’s thumb, squeezing it a little. “He could go to the bar with us.”

Barsad help back a surprised sound at the suggestion. The bar was what he thought John would consider “their thing”; he didn’t think he’d want to share it with someone else, and Barsad had never brought it up because of that. The offering to bring Bruce along was something he had not expected. “I’m sure he’d enjoy that. We’ll ask him.”

_______________

“Wow, you’re actually going out not in a tie,” Josh noted when Bruce walked out of the bedroom, clearly having stolen some of Tommy’s clothing and changed from the suit he had walked in with. Bruce flashed him a smile. He had, of course, ever so innocently asked about the state of John’s ass the second he’d walked in the door, and John had cursed him out a bit before inviting him to the bar with them.

“I saw where you lived, John. If the bar is near there, I don’t want to be putting one of my suits anywhere near it.”

“That’s… ok, kind of fair. We’ll probably get mugged just with you walking with us, anyway.”

“Nah, I’ve blended in with the common folk before. I don’t even need the over obvious baseball cap and dark shades to do it.”

Bruce was right. Dressed in street clothes, no one looked twice at him when they got to the bar. It was weird, going in with someone besides Josh with them. He hadn’t even been sure why he’d offered earlier. Maybe when he’d found out about Tommy possibly being gone for the next few days he felt a little… off. It made him want the extra company. Bruce, he was learning, was really good company.

They scooted into a booth together and drank, Josh being the responsible one and only having one or two as the night went on.  John wasn’t sure about seating arrangements at first, what was ok in public between them, anything, but it didn’t seem to matter. He’d ended up with his head leaning against Josh’s shoulder like it usually did when he had a couple of beers in him, and Josh wrapped his arm right around his shoulder like he always did. Bruce paused in his story, he really did have some pretty damn hilarious stories, and in a few moments John had his legs propped up in Bruce’s lap under the table, his fingers sliding up his pant leg to curl around his ankle and, well, that was nice. Nice enough that he’d drifted a bit until Josh excused himself to use the restroom and John grumbled at him for daring to leave.

Bruce gave his ankle a squeeze to get his attention more. “You’re going back to school?”

“Yeah. I’m going to talk to the administration about it this week.” He resettled and took another sip of his drink.

“That’s good, John. If you need anything for it, or if I can help, let me know, ok?”

“I’ve got my scholarship still, they said.”

“Or, you could let me pay for it, and then the scholarship can be open for someone else.”

He’d known it was going to be offered, and he’d been ready to say no and that he could do it on his own, but then Bruce had to go and phrase it like THAT, like there could be some other person out there needing it and not getting it just because John kept the scholarship on general principle.

“How do you even DO that?”

“Do what?” Bruce asked, but his eyes had a shine to them that said he knew exactly what John meant. John snorted and tossed a peanut at him from the little dish at their table. Bruce just batted it away.  “I just know what people need to hear to do the right thing.”

“Or the thing YOU want them to do, anyway.”

“Or that,” he agreed. “It’s very useful for business.”

“I’m sure,” he replied dryly, and nudged at Bruce a little with his foot, getting his ankle tickled slightly in return.

“So you’ll let me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be your kept boy. I swear, if that leaks to the press…”

Bruce just laughed. “I’ll try to keep it quiet, I promise.”

His family was doing an awful lot of promising to him lately. Josh promising it was going to be ok if he graduated, Bruce promising to try and keep the press out of his actual private life. It was all well and good, but it made him feel a little queasy inside because when you promised something, that meant there was something there to break.

He winced when Bruce pinched at the thin skin around his ankle. “Hey!”

“It looked like I was losing you there for a minute. What’s wrong?

He glared then sighed. “Waiting for it to all go wrong, I guess.”

“Well that’s cheery. I like to think even I’m not that bad.” John made a face. Bruce sometimes got into quieter moods that he’d noticed, but it didn’t seem that bad to him, he was a fucking serial killer; it wasn’t strange to assume that led to some ups and downs.

“You’re not that bad. It’s better when you’re being a cocky fuck, though.”

“And it’s better when you’re being a snappy little shit.”

They stared a moment and grinned, just a little. Josh was back then, and John talked him into another round and a couple games of darts before heading home and to bed. He’d wondered if Bruce or Josh were going to try to start something up. He was feeling way too drained for that still, but he’d rather them do it in the same room as him than go off. He hadn’t slept alone since he’d gotten there, and the bed seemed too big without Tommy there. They didn’t, though; they only stripped down with him and curled up together, with some playful teasing and a drunken giggle from John, though he’d swear it was Josh, before they slept.


	48. Chapter 48

No Tommy or Talia the next night, but Bruce was able to spend the day with them. Bruce wasn’t Tommy, but, well, fuck, even he was starting to think of them in terms like “brother” and “sister” in his mind, though he wasn’t saying them out loud. Josh was a little quieter while they spent the day in the garage, but when John mentioned it, he gave him a little smile and assured him he was just fine. When he’d gone into the kitchen to get them something to eat, Bruce had followed him and quietly explained that Josh didn’t do as well without Tommy around.

“He’d spent the night at my apartment plenty of times, though…”

“I’m sure he always went home the next morning or soon after,” Bruce pointed out while he poured out some juice for them, and he had a point. Josh never stayed long the next morning, or if he did it had been on a day he’d come to see him late the night before. Now that he’d thought about it, he wasn’t really sure he’d had Josh to himself for a full 24 hours before.

“Is he going to be ok?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Bruce reassured him, but John felt sick when Bruce quietly tucked the knife block out of sight behind some other appliances. “He really will be. It’s just best not to keep things out to tempt him. You don’t drink with an alcoholic, do you now?”

“Why did he have to go with Talia?”

“He didn’t, but Bane really wanted to, and Tommy wasn’t going to fight him on it.”

“He should have.” He set his jaw stubbornly. Josh was upset, and he hated that he couldn’t fix that.

“It’s best for Tommy not to fight with Bane.”

“Why, because they can’t punch it out?”

“No. Because Bane is stronger, and could lock Tommy away for as long as he liked,” Bruce explained quietly as he sipped from his glass. Like it was ok to just dole out mind altering revelations like that and then take a sip of apple juice.

But John kept kind of just staring at him for a few long minutes before Bruce sighed and set down his glass. “How much do you want to know, John?”

“I don’t— probably fucking nothing, but you can’t just drop something like that and expect me not to want to KNOW.”

“Well. It’s just how it sounds. Bane and Tommy have an agreement on switching off; the agreement is to keep peace between them, but if that’s broken, Bane is the stronger of the two, and he could easily keep Tommy from coming out… It’s happened before.”

John sputtered. The very idea that Tommy could just go away like that, that Bane could be there and not Tommy, it was, well, it made his blood feel like it was chilling inside of his veins. “W-when?”

“He got caught, in another country, got sent into a prison system there for a few months. Not a nice one like we’ve got here, one that tosses their criminals into a pit together and lets them decide what to do with each other. Bane decided Tommy was too soft for that. He tucked him away and kept him below while Talia and I tracked him down and got him out.”

“Shit.”  He didn’t know what to say. What did you even say to that?

“It took a little while for us to convince Bane to let Tommy back out. He… well, he loves Tommy. He wants him safe, and his idea of safe is more extreme than ours.”

“This was before my time,” Josh spoke out as he entered the kitchen and took a glass to drink from. John couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes swept the room lightly and he almost imperceptibly relaxed when the knife block wasn’t in sight.

“It was for the best, I’m sure. It wasn’t a good time for anyone.”

“Bane didn’t like it much better,” Josh agreed. “He’s mentioned it once or twice.”

“When do you even talk to him? I thought he only came out during… you know.”

“Sometimes he stays after that and I talk to him while we clean, or even after that if he wants something else.” Josh shrugged slightly, as if that was normal, that Bane killed someone and Josh hung around in case Bane wanted a little action after that.

“Ew.” He bit into his sandwich, feeling he probably shouldn’t be so jaded that that only elicited an ‘ew,’ but he was busy worrying now. He’d thought Bane and Tommy were equals, and the thought that Bane could suddenly make Tommy disappear, maybe for forever… he nearly felt sick. Josh seemed to sense his worry and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

“Tommy is fine. Bane loves him. He wants him to be happy as well as safe. He wouldn’t just do that for no reason.”

“But he would do it,” he pointed out.

“Sometimes, we do things that might seem… extreme, to hold onto the people we love, sweetheart.”

“Like kidnap them,” Bruce helpfully supplied.

Right. He felt stupid when he sometimes completely fucking forgot that he hadn’t exactly been a willing participant in this at first. “Or lock them away inside of their own fucking minds?”

“Or kill for them.” Bruce’s look suddenly flashed dark, very dark. It made a chill prickle at the back of his neck.

“Bruce…” Josh’s tone went very soft, more sympathetic, as he left John to put an arm on Bruce’s shoulder which looked absolutely rigid with tension. He was missing something here. Some vital piece to his family’s puzzle.

“What… what happened?”

Bruce took a long breath. Took a few long breaths, and John recognized a poor attempt at controlling rage when he saw one, and Jesus, wasn’t that a little scary? Because aside from his horrific incident of drug-induced terror, he’d never seen any of the anger that they talked about Bruce having, not like this, not ready to come up to the surface. He backed away a little, and Bruce waved his hand dismissively.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, little brother.” It was like he said the title to remind himself that John wasn’t someone to hurt, and that didn’t make him feel too terribly better. Did Josh and Bruce just get a little more cracked when Tommy wasn’t around? If so, Tommy needed to come the fuck home soon. Bruce was talking again, though, softly, so John’s attention snapped back to him.

“Ra— Talia’s father… He killed someone very important to me. Someone like a father to me… He was trying to keep me safe, but—”

Oh. Bruce had killed Talia’s father, but he had absolutely never asked about that one because that seemed like a pretty damn big ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ sort of thing. Fuck, if he ever met up with the men who had shot his father… He felt a flash of hot anger just at the thought. He wasn’t sure how Talia had ever forgiven that, how she was with Bruce after that, even knowing Bruce had gotten his back broken over it. It made maybe a little more sense now if Bruce’s own deed had been done in some sort of retribution.

“He… Alfred,” he said the name softly, and his eyes were more distant, like he was remembering a face while he spoke. “He raised me, after my parents died. It was just the two of us. Half the time, I treated him like shit,” he sounded regretful at that. “Half the time, he was the only person who I cared if they were proud of me. He… He found out, eventually, found my site.  I never could keep anything from him. He didn’t understand; he left.” Bruce’s eyes closed at that, like the memory hurt. “He wasn’t going to tell anyone. I know he wasn’t, but he said he couldn’t be there, knowing. Talia’s father found out. He didn’t believe that Alfred could be trusted.” His voice trailed off at that, and Josh rubbed his hand down Bruce’s back lightly.

“He purged Alfred,” Barsad finished gently for him. “Talia’s father always taught that even the pure sometimes die for the sake of the greater good.”

John could see Bruce’s jaw clench tightly at that, his hand gripping onto the back of the chair tightly enough that John wondered if he was going to snap through the wood before he sighed out and his arms shook slightly.

“I don’t even remember doing it,” he admitted. John didn’t think Bruce had talked to anyone about it yet from the way Josh was looking at him. “I just remember him there telling me. Then I remember my head filling up with the red, more than it ever had, before… I came back, and I couldn’t even tell it was him until I felt through the mush I’d left behind and found the… the tie pin he always wore.” Bruce’s eyes looked so distant and John just didn’t know what to do when Bruce’s voice got low, really low, so it could barely be heard. “Every parental figure I’ve had in my life died because of me.”

He didn’t know how to handle this. He already knew he couldn’t handle his own fucking emotions and he sure didn’t know how to handle Bruce’s. He wished Tommy were there. He’d know how to handle it. He’d know the fucking right thing to say, or do. Tommy wouldn’t feel like slipping off and hiding in the bedroom until things were sorted out, like a fucking child.

Instead, he just watched as Josh tucked in close to Bruce, slid deftly between him and the chair and wrapped his arms around him. “That is untrue, brother, but now is not the time to argue such a thing. We are going to lie down.” Josh’s voice brooked no argument, which was so strange to hear. “Come on.” He pulled at Bruce a little, who let himself be led to the bedroom. John hesitated a moment before taking the sandwiches in to them. He tried to slip back out and give them space, but Bruce snaked a hand around his wrist and tugged him onto the bed, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Where are you going, squirt?”

He bristled. “Oh, I KNOW you did not just call me squirt.”

There was a soft huff of laughter against his shoulder, and he relaxed a little. Bruce’s lapse smoothed out slowly as they exchanged a few insults and ate sandwiches in bed. Tommy was going to point out the crumbs they were leaving, and that made John laugh when Josh mentioned it. Bruce’s hand was running down his thigh in a casual, repetitive motion and Josh by now had his head in Bruce’s lap, the earlier tension in him seemed to have at least eased up a little and now he felt like he could relax again.


	49. Chapter 49

“Bar?” He finally suggested after a lull in the conversation.

“Sounds good,” Bruce agreed. They spent the night out again. John offered, a little reluctantly, to be the designated driver, but Josh brushed it off and told him he liked how silly he got when he was tipsy. So a little tipsy he got, maybe just a little giggly, too, when they drove home and Bruce licked the skin just behind his ear. When had they ended up in the back seat together? He decided such a silly question didn’t really matter, and hummed contently when Bruce’s hands started to get more than a little friendly and he squirmed into the leather seats below him, feeling his cock twitch with interest.

“Hey now, you two,” Josh glanced back from the rearview mirror. “You don’t get to do all the drinking AND be the only ones having sex. You just keep it on a low simmer until we get home.”

John grinned blearily, drunk enough to not feel silly about it, but not too blitzed to not realize that yeah, he was a bit drunk.

Bruce just laughed and pulled John in for a kiss, stroking his whiskey-tinged tongue over John’s for a moment before he spoke against his lips. “I can’t help it that he wants it so bad,” he teased, all of his confident tone back when he looked into John’s eyes with a look that plainly said he could devour him right there, make him whine and buck for it, and John knew it wasn’t a fucking bluff.

He felt his face heating up and he groaned. “Oh, fuck you.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, as though he were thinking it over. “If that’s what you wanted.”

Oh. He breathed out in surprise and dipped in close to kiss Bruce again.

Yeah. That’s what he wanted.

_______________

Bruce almost laughed at the way John’s kiss went from drunk and sloppy to eager and, well, still drunk and sloppy, but with an edge to it that was sweetly earnest. Offer his little brother a chance to top, and he acted like it was Christmas. He’d have to remember to offer more often; he’d never really had a preference anyway, not with his family. He toyed with the idea of riding John right there in the car and feeling how his hips would bounce and his cock would practically vibrate inside when they went along the bumpier outer city roads, but it really wouldn’t be fair to Barsad.

As it was, they made it to the kitchen. His back was pushed against the table, and John hadn’t detached his arms from around Bruce’s shoulder’s since they’d left the car, attacking his lips with kisses and bites, licking over them with hot puffs of breath that made his own tingle. John had worked himself up to the point of practically panting for it. Bruce could understand that, they’d worried him earlier without meaning to. John’s mood fluxes seemed somewhat similar to his own, and after an emotional break like that, frankly, all he wanted to do was fuck. That had led to some drunk and disorderly times in college and high school, but now with his family it was a safe way to blow off steam and it was good for him, and what was good for the goose…

He firmly grabbed the front of John’s pants, gripping his length through the now taut material. He gave a sharp flick of his wrist, jerking his palm along John’s cock and smirking when John cried out sharply, his head yanking back and his mouth falling open.

…Was definitely good for the gander. He couldn’t help but finish the thought with a low chortle at the way John was shamelessly grinding against his palm now. Kid was needy, and he thought about whispering that in his ear and keeping the kid part in.

So he did, and got cursed out vehemently before John started yanking at his shirt.

“I’ll show you who’s a fucking kid.”

Bruce wasn’t really sure how that was going to help his argument any, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d had more than a few and so had John. He could hear Barsad’s light laughter near them, and looked over to see that he was sitting at a chair with his feet propped up on the table, drinking in the sight of them. His hand was resting against the front of his pants, casually stroking himself through them, and even though they hadn’t bothered with much in the way of turning lights on, Bruce could still see the dark outline in Barsad’s jeans from the moonlight streaming into the window.

“Don’t think you’re just going to watch,” he remarked, and John turned his attention towards him, as well.

“Yeah, hey, and we need lube.”

“You are both being very bossy.”

“Joooosshhh,” John whined a little, and it ended in a slightly drunken giggle that had Barsad laughing and putting his hands up in surrender.

“I will get it. Just don’t do that again.”

They worked shirts off and pants open in the time it took for Barsad to get back, not bothering with more. He played with John’s cock until his hips were twitching, and he licked at the sweat forming against his neck. “Kid,” he informed him again, and got his shoulders smacked at in response, but John was beyond angry comebacks by the time Barsad had pushed Bruce onto the table, pinning his wrists behind his back in a hold that would be hard to shake even with his weight advantage.

“Let me get this cocky brother of ours ready for you, sweetheart.”

He could hear John’s heavy breathing as Barsad stroked wet fingers over him, slicked him up perfectly. He was more than willing to push back, groan and put on a show for John until Barsad crooked his fingers and rubbed against his prostate with a blinding precision that only came from constant practice, and then it wasn’t a show anymore. Barsad pushed harder, rubbed more roughly, and Bruce squirmed for a moment, a slight instinct and tightening of his muscle to fight the assault before he sighed and laid his head against the table, raised his ass up high, that hot glow sending off jolts of pleasure tingling down his shaft.

“See? He can be rendered speechless, just like you.”

“Who’d have thought?”

Bruce laughed. “Come on, now.”

He supposed he deserved the slap on his ass from when he had given John the same treatment, so he took it with only mild complaint, then sighed as John pressed up against him, feeling the slight tremble in John’s fingers as they came to rest on the small of his back.

He snapped his hips back and took him in one smooth glide. It hurt, the sudden stretch, but Bruce had always liked that, suddenly feeling filled up, cock rubbing hot and rough against him inside until he couldn’t think anymore. Judging by the sharp yell his action got and the way John’s hands were suddenly digging into his sides, John liked it a bit, too.

“Come on then, John.”

“Fu—” He seemed to stop, realizing how pointless the curse was at the moment, and settled for thrusting forward, instead. Bruce pushed back eagerly. He soon found John was a quick learner when encouraged with some guided instructions and some sultry moans mixed in so he wouldn’t feel like Bruce was trying to take him to school.

“God, yeah, that’s good, John. Can you move just a little harder?” He sighed and pushed back in time to force him deeper. “Just like that… just a little faster, ok?”

“Ok, fuck, ok,” John sounded breathless already.

“Not going to lose it already, are you?”

John stammered out a rather indignant sounding no, which would have been much more convincing without the low guttural groan that followed it. He winked at Barsad who was slowly stroking himself off now. Bruce eyed how his brother worked his own length in his hand, pulling with slow strokes that made his breathing heavier as he watched.

“He feels good.”

“I am quite aware,” Barsad chuckled.

“God, how do both of you fucking CONVERSE during sex?” John’s tone was nearly a whine of complaint. Bruce only laughed and reached down to stroke himself, sighing in pleasure when John’s hand joined him, taking over the job. He felt himself getting hotter. John filled him well, and the way he tried so hard made it all the better. He gripped the table and rolled his hips back at him, feeling the heat in his spine, one of the few times all of the pain of his injury seemed to float away, replaced by the burn of pleasuring tingling down it and into his belly, his cock, his ass.

“Come on, that’s good, John, almost,” he encouraged, almost smiling at the way John responded to the praise, the faster snap of his hips, the care put into fisting his cock in his hand. He arched when John bit down sharply onto his shoulder and came with a muffled cry, and his hips stilled. His hand didn’t stop working, though, and Bruce rocked back, forcing the head of his cock to rub against him in a few more tantalizing strokes before he joined John in orgasm, knowing Barsad wasn’t going to be far behind.

_______________

Talia sighed. Her lips bowed into a small smile as Bane tenderly ran his finger over them again and again. The repeated sensation was beginning to rub them slightly redder, but it was still nice as she laid her head against his thigh. She knew how much he liked to touch, to feel. Tommy and Bane were the same in that manner, the lure of skin contact so strong for them. Bane’s desire was perhaps even stronger when he was joined with his family, since he was on the surface to feel it much less often.

They had lit a small fire in the cave, one of the few luxuries they tried to allow themselves on the rare moments they were together. There was the weak sound of shallow breathing from the mat they had laid out of the floor, but it was easy enough to ignore as always when they took a break together from the work. When her prey had finally succumbed to unconsciousness, she had sighed and turned to Bane, their bodies dirty with the blood shared between them, and pushed him to the cool floor. She had ridden him while he growled and thrust into her, rutted with her and worked her clit with a rough thumb until she had screeched above him and collapsed, then rolled her onto the cool floor, continuing until he snarled with satisfaction and filled her with his hot seed.

“Do you like him?” he rasped out quietly. She smiled more, having been waiting for the question.

“I do. I am glad he has come into our lives. Do you?”

“Tommy loves him. He is ours, now,” he stated plainly, as though that was all that needed to be said on the matter.

She pressed a kiss against his fingers, licking at the slight copper taste caught between his nails. “But do you like him?”

“He is… weaker. I am not certain I trust him.” His voice trailed off as though in thought, and his fingers stroked her jaw now. She tilted her head up so she could study his eyes. They were all she ever needed to see to know his thoughts. The mask had been their idea together, all three of them, a way to separate Bane and Tommy so that it was clear for them, something concrete without the back and forth, the uncertainty and conflict making Tommy anxious and even sick, which in turn made Bane work harder to keep him safe. The early years between them had been a struggle. It had been nothing more than a cloth ski mask the first time, but as Bane and Tommy evened out, Bane had wanted to create a face for himself; he wanted to see what he felt inside reflected back.

She reached up and traced the metal coils that covered his mouth. He was still beautiful to her even though he wished to project himself as a monster. He was not. He was a protector and a cleanser, he was family.

He was also one whose emotions ran as deeply as any of them, he simply tried to hide them behind his mask.

“You wish you could,” she realized. “You love him, as well.”

His fingers paused and his eyes focused on hers more. “I care for him,” he answered carefully.

She laughed and her voice became teasing. “You love him, Bane.” He snorted and she sat up, pressing her forehead to his own of leather and metal. “There is no shame in that. I think we all do, now. He is ours, and I cannot say that he can be trusted completely, and that does make it more difficult, but don’t try to fool yourself, brother.”

He looked troubled a moment then nodded. “I do not like it, still. How can our John be truly one of us if we must worry about his intentions?”

She shook her head and stood, hearing her prey beginning to stir. “I’m certain you can think of a way to make him prove himself, if that is your desire, but I believe he will do the right thing now. I trust our little songbird.” She glanced at him and slid her hand across the table, stroking her fingertips against a few scattered tools before she picked one and her prey lit up again with fresh terror.


	50. Chapter 50

He had been sitting in his car for the past half hour. Gordon had left him a message on Josh’s phone, which had mostly become his phone at this point, asking if he was free if he could come to the station anytime the next day to look at the footage.

Any minute now he was going to walk into that station. Any minute now.

Right after he checked in on Josh and Bruce. The call went way too quickly. Bruce had Josh out, and they were about to go into some weird foreign movie that John really had no interest in. It was good for them to be out of the house, though; Tommy and Talia were still gone for the third day in a row, and he was starting to feel anxious about it, about how Josh’s fingers had a tic to them and Bruce would occasionally take them into his own and whisper something in Josh’s ear until he took a deep breath and calmed.

Any minute now.

It was a quiet little room, mostly empty except for the screen, a table and some chairs. Gordon and another detective were there with him, having fixed him up with a cup of water and made sure he was ok. He nodded his ascent and tried not to crush the paper cup in his hands. He wasn’t going to let any expression cross his face. He was just going to watch this video and figure out what to do after.

Was that really him? Jesus he looked like a fucking ragdoll, a really fucking blurry ragdoll with a snapped leg trailing back behind him. He wasn’t going to make a face. No expression at all. But he wanted to cry with relief.

Cheap, rundown hospital, cheap camera, made for cheap grainy images that consisted mostly of Josh’s face being obscured the way John had his arms desperately wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn’t even sure how he was doing that as he was pretty sure he’d been more than unconscious at the time. There was the rush of doctors and nurses coming to take him up, and for a brief moment Josh’s face was towards the camera directly.

Gordon froze on the picture and Josh could see a beard, grainy features and ever so faintly the fear in Josh’s eyes, but only because he knew those eyes so well. His hair was slicked down with perspiration and his panic made him look so very different. If he didn’t know Josh, he wasn’t sure he could pick him out of a lineup with this picture. Maybe this was ok? He wasn’t exactly going to be letting Gordon see Josh anytime soon or anything, and he was going to maybe tell him he should shave for a while, as strange as that would be, but maybe he wouldn’t have to mention this to any of them.

“Is there anything you can tell us, son? Did it jog your memory at all?”

He closed his eyes, to think of what to say, but he figured he probably gave the impression of trying to remember. “It doesn’t even feel like it’s me there…” It was honest enough. It was like watching a whole different life now. “It doesn’t bring anything back.”

“That’s alright. It was worth a shot, thank you for taking the time to look.” Gordon patted his shoulder lightly, and he felt his insides cringe at the disappointment in his tone. It only made him think of the looks he’d get from foster parents who would shake their heads sadly at the angry little boy they couldn’t fix. Even if Gordon didn’t mean it like that, even if he wasn’t disappointed in him really, it hurt inside. “I know it’s a crap video, but we’re going to have a sketch artist work with it. See what they can come up with, and see if we put the picture on the picture on the news if it will give us any leads. “

Fuck.

“Even if we don’t, though, it’s not the end of the world, ok? We’ve got some new leads we want to pursue. Can I talk to you alone for a couple of minutes?”

He nodded his agreement, feeling a bit numb with worry.

“John, are you alright? If this was too much…”

He shook his head. It was too much, but he needed to hear whatever Gordon was going to tell him in case it was important. He was trying not to work himself up, though. Yeah, they were blurry images, and they’d probably make Josh look like the Unabomber, or add ten years to his face or something, but they were still fucking images and the idea of pictures of Josh on TV was terrifying.

“Alright.” Gordon sat down beside him. “This is just between you and me, now.” He gave him a serious look, waiting for John to nod before he continued, “I heard about Dr. Crane, John.”

He dug his fingers into his cup.

“I can’t be the only one who finds his sudden disappearance a little suspicious, now can I, son?”

“Do you think…” he stopped to clear his throat. “That it has something to do with all of this? The office said he just disappeared.”

“He did. No trace of him. Some of his paperwork came back a little funny, though, and we’re investigating some possible bad ties he could have to a drug ring.” He shook his head suddenly. “Can’t keep any profession clean, can you? And here I went and recommended him to you.”

“He was a good doctor,” he gritted out, forcing a calm breath, yanking his mind as viciously away from the corners of his memory that were all too happy to creep in and try to fill in the cracks with those feelings of dread he still got when he thought about the “good doctor.” He hadn’t had an attack in over two weeks, and he was proud, damn proud, of himself for it, but he didn’t think that meant they were gone.

“I’m glad to hear it, but even with that investigation ongoing, I don’t think getting in with a drug ring was what did him in, John. I’m worried that it was your appointments.”

“W-what?” He didn’t have to fake the waver in his voice.

Gordon looked at him sympathetically, as if he felt terrible to be the one telling him this. “I just don’t believe in coincidence, John. All of these killings, and you were our first real lead. The killer not only doesn’t kill you, but he takes you to the hospital. Now suddenly a doctor, a man you were revealing personal things to, has disappeared, and I’d put money on it that he’s dead. I’m worried you’re being stalked, John; I’m worried that this killer is someone you know.”

“I can’t—I don’t…” The room was getting dimmer. How could he respond, how could he fucking respond to that? “I don’t know any fucking killers!” He just wanted to go home. He should have said he wasn’t feeling well enough, then he could have gone home and been with his family.

Gordon didn’t seem surprised by his clear upset. He placed a warm hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s not exactly anything anyone would want to hear. It’s important to realize that it could be someone you barely even know, someone who fixated on you in passing. A bus driver you saw when you rode to school every day, a cashier where you shop; you might not even know their name. It’s just a theory, John, but I wanted to tell you because I want you to be careful, extremely careful, ok?”

“They haven’t hurt me, though,” he whispered softly. He hated this. He just wanted to go home. “They took me to the hospital.”

“No, but I’m afraid that doesn’t mean they won’t try. They’ve been nothing but unpredictable from the start of this investigation. Every time we think we have them pegged down, something changes; a different disposal, a different sort of victim. Sometimes I wonder if we’re just shooting at air. I know we’ve talked about there maybe being more than one out there, but sometimes it feels like there’s a whole slew of them.”

John barked out a sharp laugh at that, and Gordon joined him, but they were both laughing for very different reasons.

“I just want you to be careful, ok? Can you promise me that?”

He nodded, anything to get out of there at that point. He didn’t remember the walk back to the car. He was just sitting in it again, thinking about those pictures, thinking about Gordon. Gordon was smart. Gordon was fucking smarter than he had any right to be. He was getting uncomfortably close to the truth. How long could it be until he really figured it out?

Maybe John was working himself up needlessly. He knew from class just how useless those pictures could be. Gordon hadn’t really figured it out yet. He was telling John a hunch only out of worry. It wasn’t even important enough for him to share with another detective, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? His mind wouldn’t calm down, though, and it was caught in a loop of anxious worry over if he should tell his family or not. What would happen if he mentioned it? What if he got Gordon killed? But what if he didn’t tell them, and something happened to Josh?

He wanted Tommy and Talia home.

_______________

“Barsad.” Bruce’s voice was understanding and gentle as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “We can find somewhere quiet and get someone for you. Tommy left the list.”

He shook his head, but leaned into the hold more. He had purged only two days before Talia and Tommy had gone. He hated the idea of succumbing to his darkness so quickly, hated to give it the idea that it could slither out so rapidly. He had dealt with Tommy being gone for short times before. It had not been said, but he knew this was partly a test for him, to see how he was faring, and he would bear it as well as he could. It was important to Bane that Barsad was tested on occasion so that he could improve, and he would do his best not to fail.

His fingers could not stop twitching, though, and the bad thoughts crept into his mind at times while they walked down the street together now, surrounded by throbbing hearts, racing blood, warm meat that would pierce so easily, would cut clean and red and soothe away his black. His eyes caught onto a young man as he biked down the road close by. He was glistening with sweat and panting from the exertion it took to race down the pathways and deliver packages. He wanted his brains, open and scattered across his lap, wanted to pick them apart bit by bit and squish it between his fingers.

Bruce’s grip tightened and he guided him into the car. “Barsad, I don’t want you to risk slipping. Neither Bane nor Tommy would want that.”

He sighed and pulled his brother in for a kiss, feeling the connection between them soften his insides, make the darkness spasm unhappily and retreat. He slid his fingers into his hair and took a slow breath, feeling Bruce kiss his forehead. “I can bear this.”

“If you’re sure.” Bruce didn’t press more, he just gave him another kiss and took them home. It was dark then. Bruce had kept him out most of the day. He suspected he was keeping him from John out of worry, but he needn’t have done so. He didn’t think he could ever hurt his sweetheart, not even when all of that black coated his insides. He desperately wanted to believe that he’d know, that he would not try to cut him down.

John was at the kitchen table when they got home, staring out the window. He looked relieved to see them, though, and Barsad pulled him up from his chair and held him close, felt the darkness inside scramble back even further at the sparks of John’s light. They shared a kiss before Barsad pulled back and made a face, tasting smoke and nicotine on John’s tongue.

“Sweetheart…”                                                                            

“I know, I know,” John sighed, and laid his head on his shoulder. “Can we just go to bed and you can scold me in the morning?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow then spotted the cup that John had been using as a makeshift ashtray. “Don’t let Tommy catch you smoking, especially not in the house.”

“Tommy isn’t here,” John shot back grumpily. It was definitely time for bed for all of them. Bruce took care of the cup and they stripped down bare together. John was skin hungry, burrowing between them both and wrapping his arms tightly around Barsad. Bruce seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on both of them. He took turns between stroking their backs until they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, only 6 chapters left after this I believe!


	51. Chapter 51

He set down Bane’s bag lightly in the hall, not surprised that the house was still and quiet. He had not liked leaving them alone for so long without much warning, but Bane had been insistent, and he could not begrudge him. It had been so long since he had been able to spend quality time with their sister. Their sister who laid her head against his shoulder, her eyes softer, open and gentle, alertness gone as it would be for a day or so after her kill.

There was a sudden rattle from the washing room, a sharp clatter of objects. It made Talia jump slightly.

He ran his fingers through her hair and placed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Go rest.” It was a gentle order that he knew would be obeyed in this moment. She wrapped her arms around him briefly, and he returned the hug before he saw her head towards her own room, preferring to attempt to sleep alone when she felt more vulnerable. He would gather her up and take her to bed properly, with all of them, in a moment.

It was doubtful that they had a prowler. It had happened once… Bane had found it quite hilarious, and still chuckled at the memory from time to time. Still, it would be unwise not to be prepared. He went back to Bane’s bag and took a knife, gently insisting to Bane that he was fine handling this, and leaving the mask tucked into the bag.

There was a low, rattling laugh from behind the door, something that would chill the bones of most by how inhuman it sounded.

A cautious twist of the laundry room’s door and the soft rattling inside stopped. He pushed lightly, and suddenly the door was shoved back at him as though someone had slammed the full weight of their body against it.

“Do not—Do not come in!” The words were a coarse whisper, filled with fear.

He sighed and crouched down close to the small gap under the door. “Barsad, brother, it is me.”

A long moment of silence passed, and then Barsad’s slender—thankfully clean—fingers slid under the gap, turned upward and seeking his own. Tommy gripped them lightly.

“T-Tommy—”

“Give it to me, Barsad.”

There was another long pause as his brother clearly struggled, then his fingers withdrew and there was a soft rattling sound as a small penknife was rolled towards him; tiny, sharp, and utterly lethal in his brother’s hands. He gathered it up and tucked it away.

“When did you hide it?”

The fingers returned and he stroked them lightly, hearing a faint sob from the other side of the door. “A long time ago; I’d forgotten, but I dreamed about it, and I just… I needed to see it, just to hold it for a few moments.”

“Temptation is a tricky thing.” He gave his fingers another squeeze. “Back up from the door, little lamb; let me have you.”

There was the longest pause until he finally heard his brother shift away from the door. He stood and opened it cautiously. His brother’s darkness was perhaps the most unforgiving of all of theirs, not caring for family or familiarity. It consumed everything in its path if it was given the chance. It did not matter how his brother clung to the idea that it would not harm them. He let him hold onto the idea to give him peace, but his brother did not remember well his dark times and the slashes and injuries he had given to Bane when he was too consumed. It was for the best that he did not; he was too sweet to know such things.

Barsad was curled in the corner, pressed into the tight space between the dryer and the wall, his arms wrapped up over his head and shaking. Tommy closed the door behind him and sat, reached down to grasp his bare foot and pet it lightly. “Come along, you know I can’t fit in there, Barsad. We are not all as small as you.”

There was a dark laugh, but it choked out into a softer whimper. Barsad lowered his arms and nearly flung himself out of the hole and into Tommy’s, wrapping his body tightly around him. Tommy held him fast and rocked him, waiting for the trembling limbs to ease a little. Their grip was near crushing even to him; his brother’s darkness always seemed to give him unnatural strength when it sprang forward.

“I tried. I didn’t slip.” It was mumbled against his shirt, and he carded through his brother’s hair, feeling the sweat against his scalp, the tension throughout his body still.

“You did well, brother. We will go find you someone.” He could feel the relief making Barsad’s body loosen when he lifted him as he stood. “I left the list behind, for if our separation was too much,” he scolded softly. “We would rather you try and take what you need than to fail and slip, lamb, you know this.” They had thought, when Barsad did not join them in the cave with his own kill, that he had been fairing well enough, and so they had continued to take their time. He felt a small measure of guilt over that.

“I didn’t want to so soon,” he explained softly.

“You didn’t want to leave, John,” he corrected, feeling the slight nod against chest. He stooped down to regather Bane’s bag. He drew Barsad’s head back and studied his eyes; the pupil’s looked blown, deep wells of black that stared into his with a hunger. It was a sure sign his brother would not be coherent for much longer. He cuffed his hands behind him in the truck, out of precaution, and he did not protest beyond some squirming.

It took longer than he would have liked. The first name on their list was not in their home, and the second’s home security would take time to disable; it was easier to move on to the third. This one was less difficult to extract, and soon there was muffled thrashing and yelling from the backseat. He glanced over at his brother and saw how his eyes closed and his lips were curled into a darker smile at the sounds.

When he was finally freed from his cuffs in the cave, Tommy stepped back and let his brother have his prey. His appetite was voracious; blood spilled, and dry harsh laughter fell from his lips as he hacked away at the prey below him. His movements were rigid, jerking, with none of the grace his brother usually possessed. Tommy had not bothered to take the time to get him to wear a slicker, knowing it would be quite the lost cause at the moment.

The body went cold in mere moments, but his brother played still. He cut into the organs and pulled them out bit by bit, made curious sounds and weighed them in his hands as though he had not held such objects before countless times. He picked apart different ones, laughing softly. When he’d finally had his fun and the pieces were scattered across the cave floor, he rolled his shoulders and sighed, coming back to himself and letting the knife clatter to the floor.

He didn’t speak, yet. Tommy simply helped him strip the gore-soaked clothing off of him and made him wash the worst off at the sink before sending him into the manor to shower. He took care of the basic clean up, rolling the remains into a tarp to take care of later. He wished to get Barsad back home for a few hours of rest before dawn. When it was done, he cleaned himself and waited for Barsad to come back, looking damp and tired, wrapped up in one of Bruce’s robes.

“I’m sorry.” He looked down at his bare toes instead of Tommy’s eyes, and Tommy sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“You were trying, brother.” He rubbed his clean hair through his fingers then kissed his forehead. “You need to not push so hard, however.” He knew why he did it. Barsad was still trying so hard for their John, and had not wanted to leave him when Tommy had gone, too. It was a sweet gesture, but it could not be repeated. Something would have to give. John would either have to harden, or Barsad would need to accept that sometimes he would upset him.

Barsad wrapped tightly around him and breathed deeply still for a few moments as he collected himself. His body felt looser than it had before, but it still was not quite right. Tommy rubbed briskly down his spine, feeling the soft rumble of a groan against his chest as his brother’s bones seemed to turn to liquid and he went limp against him. He laughed softly when he noticed his brother’s length hardening against his thigh, and felt the slightly embarrassed squirm. Barsad was ashamed that sometimes the kill left him feeling… worked up in different manners. He rarely acted on the impulse after, as he was most often alone during it and had calmed by the time he finally cleaned up and showered.

His brother was tired, to be certain, but Tommy had missed him and knew his brother would be able to sleep later. He rubbed the back of Barsad’s neck, pleased when Barsad tipped his head back and closed his eyes so he could kiss over his throat, suck at the sweet skin there and bite lightly down on a tendon.

“Let us go home.” He blew a cool breath over his throat and placed a final sucking kiss there, feeling his brother’s fingers curl and dig into his arms before he looked at him, his usually soft eyes still lit up more, but this time not with the darkness that consumed him.

He knew the look in Barsad’s eyes, sweet hunger and longing, and he leaned in close to his brother’s lips so he could ask his clear question. It was requested, so shyly against his ear, barely a whisper, and always the same way since the first time he had gotten the courage to ask it. “May I have you, brother?”

He patted his back, resting his hand against the small of it. “If you don’t fall asleep in the truck.”

“I will not,” Barsad promised, his tone eager and his steps light as they made their way home.


	52. Chapter 52

Tommy’s skin felt like an electric blanket over him. He was crushed down into the sheets perfectly by his bulk, so much pressure, and he wanted to squirm with bliss. He wanted to soak in every drop of his heat and never be let go. It had been a struggle not to drift off into slumber on the quiet ride home, but he’d forced his eyes open, pinched himself on his thigh when he’d started to nod. Tommy had laughed lightly at him and he had smiled back sheepishly.

He had made it, though, and now he was being spoiled rotten. Tommy had carried a sleeping Talia over to their bedroom and tucked her between John and Bruce, given them each a light kiss before he took Barsad back to Talia’s room. The room had been getting much more use than it had in years. Before, it had been set up merely as a place mostly for Talia to put her things, since when she came home she was in their bed where she belonged at night. It had been important, though, for her to have a room to call her own even though her heart wandered. It was a quiet gesture from them to show her how much they considered this home hers, as well. She had resisted the idea at first, not liking the notion of being grounded in such a way, but when they had shown her how they had decorated it, especially for her, her face had softened slightly and she’d quietly nodded her approval.

Tommy laid him out of the bed, took his time and pet down his body, nails flicking over his nipples, and Barsad took it all, sighed and caressed Tommy’s face, kissed his cheeks thankfully. He knew Tommy would always give this, but he felt it wasn’t right to ask for it, not often, only on special occasions when he felt like he needed something special, something to make him feel even more connected to his brother.

He liked watching Bruce taking Tommy, and even Talia had worked him with a toy or two, sending vibrations deep inside of their brother until he twitched and rolled his hips back at her hand with a desperate hunger, when before he had merely chuckled at the idea of being able to be aroused by a “clever but needless piece of plastic.” He was beautiful when he was taken, but then, Barsad secretly thought his brother was always beautiful, though he did not find it as easy to tell him as he did for John. So he showed him, instead, kissed him with all of the desire he felt in his heart.

Tommy kissed him back, and he wanted to curl into a ball and luxuriate in it when he felt all of the love and devotion he poured out taken up and returned back to him in that kiss. He was valued, he was wanted, and he would never fully be able to repay his family for such a kindness, such unconditional love. He was the worst of them, the blackest, but they gave him so much love that he felt as though he could drown in it happily.

Tommy had him watch as he touched himself, made his body receptive and wet for him and he squirmed eagerly. He thought to try and turn them, so he could attempt to pleasure his brother as best he could, but he was instead pressed down by Tommy’s insistent hands and he cried out his name sharply as Tommy slid down onto him, so tight. He clenched up with the need to pump his hips into the sweet wetness that clung to him now, that made his vision swim, but Tommy lay out on top of him, heavy and perfect as he made Barsad’s arms trap against his sides by bracketing them with his own and rolled his hips.

He mumbled his name fervently, and was pulled into another kiss, this one all tongue and heat but still tender. It was hard to breathe with all of that warmth crushing against his chest, feeling Tommy’s low moans vibrate through them both. Tommy rode him with such a precise, gentle rocking of his hips, taking him deep and stretching himself open for him. Barsad could only let himself relax, let his mind and body soar under the attentions and scorching heat against his chest, his stomach, his cock until he was panting out his brother’s name in a dizzy rush that curled his toes when his orgasm hit him and Tommy clenched tight around him, sighing against his ear as he continued to rock along Barsad’s cock until every drop of him was caught up inside of Tommy.

It was perfect, just what he needed. When he caught his breath, he kissed Tommy more and took him into his mouth, suckling as sweetly as he could until Tommy found his own climax. There were some quiet words exchanged, another apology for pushing himself too far, a near crushing embrace and some cleanup before they went back to the shared bedroom and they slipped into bed with the rest of their family.

_______________

“I am simply saying it needs to be taken care of; he does not need to know.”

“It is a risk, what if he were to find out? We do not know how he would react to such a thing.”

“I know how you feel about risk, but this is important, Tommy. I am certain Bane agrees.”

“Bane always agrees with you.”

John rubbed sleep away from his eyes as he padded softly down the hall. It was early; he’d woken up to Josh curled up with him, looking like he was still planning to sleep for a good while longer, which was pretty lazy of him considering how early they’d gone to bed the night before. He was going to tease him about it when he got up. For once, he couldn’t be called the lazy one. He had kind of been thinking about slipping off to smoke a cigarette before anyone else woke. Bruce tended to be a late sleeper, so he had thought there was a good chance of one or two before either man stirred.

He hadn’t expected to hear Tommy and Talia out in the kitchen, and he had to hold back from just dashing into it like some sort of eager puppy. He walked in, instead, cleared his throat nonchalantly.

“Good mor—” He was cut off by the sudden weight of Talia crushing him to the doorframe. He oofed, and she laughed, sounding light and happy. It wasn’t that she sounded heavy or upset before, but it was different, almost childlike, and she kissed over his cheeks, his nose, his lips, all light and playful.

“Did you miss us?”

“I… yeah.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I missed you both a whole fucking lot.”

She smiled, clearly pleased, and tugged on his hair, pulling him down to kiss less playfully, her fingers scratching into his scalp. He heard movement beside him and Tommy was wrapping an arm around his waist, and managing to hug them both together. He let go of Talia to burrow a little against Tommy’s chest, wrap an arm around him, too.

“We missed you, too, John.”

“You can’t—You can’t just go like that, ok?” His voice cracked and he hated that it did, but fuck, there had been no sort of warning at all and they were both just gone with no indication of when they’d be back.

“It was not my choi—”

“I’m talking to BANE.” He shook his head and looked up at Tommy. They’d said he could hear things, too, feel them, see them, so he was going to hear this. “You can’t just GO like that. Josh was so upset, ok? I was upset, too.”

Tommy’s head tilted and his eyes looked more distant.

Talia laughed softly beside him. “John, it is rude to scold someone who cannot talk back.”

He huffed. This was fucking serious. “Then let me talk to him.” He set his shoulder’s stubbornly, waiting to argue more, to get told to stop being silly. He was surprised when Tommy kissed his cheek and pulled back.

“Please try to curb your tongue, John.”

There was a bag on the table. Tommy seemed to carry it with him almost wherever he went, so it wasn’t really too much of a surprise to see him pull that mask out of it. It looked strange to see him slide it on, straps fixed with a practiced ease. It was like flicking a switch, something in Tommy’s eyes, his posture, his entire being rippled, shifted, and then it was Bane looking at him, his head tilted just slightly. He beckoned John closer and, well, he’d asked for him, so it was silly to be weird about it, now. He walked up and felt Bane stroke over his cheek.

“You wished to scold me?” He sounded quite clearly entertained by the idea. He shook his head then made a face when Bane played his thumb over his lips, squeezing them together with his fingers.

“Stop, this is fuc—This is serious, ok?”

“Ah, very well, then. If it is serious,” Bane’s hands rested on his shoulders, “then tell me your say, little brother.”

“Josh was really bad off, ok? You can’t just leave like that; if you have to, you should have taken him with you.”

“Ah, so this is about my little lamb, not yourself?” Bane smoothed his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, taming sleep-tousled locks as he went.

“No. I mean yes, but no. It’s not just about him, but that’s what is most important, ok? It’s easy to just go away and not have to SEE him, but he looked awful, he really needed you.”

“Barsad could have joined us. He did not wish to leave you.”

“Then MAKE him come with you. You know you can, and I don’t… I don’t want to see him like that. I…” He tried to figure out how to word it, he knew how he DIDN’T want to word it, but that was the only thing that was coming to his head so he closed his eyes and forced it out anyway. “I was scared. I was really scared, ok? I… I don’t ever want to feel scared of Josh.” He bit his lip and looked down.

There was a soft hiss as Bane’s sigh rasped out of the mask. “I will bring him with us next time.”

He nodded in relief and couldn’t hold back from flinging his arms around him. Bane seemed surprised, pausing a moment before he rubbed the back of his neck. “You are so soft, John.”

“I am not, jerk,” he mumbled against his chest, barely biting back calling him an asshole.

Bane seemed to sense it anyway, and rumbled in amusement. “Is that all you wished to speak to me about?”

“Yeah.”

His hand ran down his spine, fingers creeping across his ass and digging into the flesh there roughly, and his hips jerked forward, pushing firmly into Bane’s. He felt the sudden heat there.

“Good.”

“Oh,” he might have squeaked. He hoped he hadn’t squeaked. Bane laughed. Yeah, he’d squeaked.

That was pretty ok, though, because Bane only seemed to like it, and he did everything he could to draw it out of John while he sat down at the chair and coaxed John into riding him for all he was worth.

Which, incidentally, if one was going by his associated worth through Bruce, was a whole hell of a lot.

Bane clearly didn’t have the same care about sex in the kitchen that Tommy did. He held John’s hips tightly, forced him to cant his hips and ride him faster. He bit back his cursing after the first one that slipped out of his mouth got a warning pinch to his cock. Talia watched, rubbed his back and kissed his neck, and John squirmed and sweated and scratched across Bane’s neck as he knocked an orgasm out of him at a pace so rapid that it hurt and made him bite back a whimper as he was given no time to rest when Bane worked for another.

“Fuck!”

Bane’s hand, now slick with his come, twisted sharply then pinched again. He shuddered. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, it shouldn’t feel that good to get manhandled like that, but with Bane it was just something else entirely. He bit back a shout when Bane’s hand just wouldn’t fucking quit. It was torture, and part of him loved it. His head was suddenly turned and Josh was there, looking tired but smiling, clearly entertained as he mumbled a good morning and leaned in to kiss him. He kissed back desperately, one of his hands switching to snap up Josh’s arm and maybe he was crushing it a little, but he didn’t care because Bane had managed to force a second orgasm to leave him in a painful rush, and he bit sharply into Josh’s lip as he soothed him through it.

He went limp against Bane, which was ridiculously unfair as he had been quite wide awake and now he was spent and sticky and tired, his pajama pants discarded on the floor in a heap while Bane hadn’t even bothered to take off his coat. He moaned groggily when blunt, warm fingers rubbed the back of his neck, and Bane held him for a while without saying a word. It was strange to realize that it was the longest time he’d spent with Tommy’s other half.

“I am glad we had this talk, little brother.” Bane’s mask pressed to his neck, which should have been startling, but it felt cool when his skin was too heated, so he pressed into it then snorted.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Talia laughed, and he turned his head to give her a lazy smile. His eyes glanced over the table. Josh’s cellphone was still there from where he’d set it down the night before. Had he left it open? He couldn’t remember if he’d left if flipped up like that. He recalled bits of the conversation he’d overheard before he walked in.

Had they been listening to his messages? Had he erased the message Gordon had left him asking about watching the video? Fuck. His stomach lurched. No. He’d erased that, he was sure of it. He sighed and let himself relax again to the feeling of nails scratching lightly over the nape of his neck.


	53. Chapter 53

“I can’t believe you don’t get in trouble for doing this.” John glanced around the neighborhood and Barsad laughed lightly as he deftly reloaded the rifle.

“No one around here minds. It’s just target practice.”

He had been working on teaching John how to shoot a rifle for a few weeks now. He had most of the basics, and now it was just a matter of him practicing. He was good with a handgun, having already started firearms training at the academy, and they’d had some fun with an air rifle at the carnival, but Barsad liked being able to teach him this with a real one. It was good to always be prepared. John had been surprised at the suggestion.

_“I didn’t even know there was a gun in the house.”_

_“It’s not exactly something we were going to let slip when you first got here, sweetheart,” he pointed out, and John snorted._

_“I can’t imagine why.” They shared a brief grin and Barsad was happy that it was now something that could be joked about, at least a little. John understood now that it was so much better with them, that he had a family now and that they loved him. It made his own heart warm._

_They lined up old cans on a fence post and he took aim, fired, and grinned when John made a shocked noise as he took out each can._

_“Christ, Josh! You’re like a fucking sniper, and you made me win you that lamb for you; you should have been clearing out that stand for me!”_

_He laughed and lowered the rifle. “You did great, and maybe I just wanted something pretty.”_

_They lined them up again and took turns. He worked to give John tips and correct a few things, but he did really well on his own, and he was soon just watching proudly as John started knocking them out just as well as he had._

_Barsad took his turn and realized John was watching him more than the actual firing. “What is it?”_

_“It’s not… I mean, you know, a temptation? To hold it?”_

_“Ah.” He shook his head and handed the rifle back. “No. Only the blade calls to my darkness. A gun is merely a tool for me.”_

_“Oh.” John carefully lined up his shot again. “So did Tommy teach you how to do this?”_

_“No, I don’t think Tommy has ever fired a gun, or Talia. This is something I learned when I was young.”_

_“Oh, do you mean before them?” Barsad smiled. It was cute how obvious John was when he wanted to know something but was trying not to ask._

_“Mhhmm,” he simply agreed and lined new cans up after John knocked some down. John looked disappointed for a second, and he relented. “I did say I grew up on a farm, sweetheart, remember?”_

_“Yeah you said that was how you got your SCARS, Josh, so you can’t blame me for wondering if that was true.” He made a face and started to lift the rifle again but Barsad stilled him with his hand._

_“Some of them are. Do you want to know, sweetheart?” They had told him, a somewhat edited version, of how he had been found by his brother and how they had collected Bruce, but this he had not shared, did not talk about often._

_“You don’t have to tell me.” John looked at him seriously. “I mean… I don’t talk about mine much.”_

_“I’m an open book for you, sweetheart,” he promised, ruffling his hair, and it was true. He would tell John anything he wished to know about himself now. It felt good to not have to hide from him. So they sat together on the grass, and Josh told him about when he was young._

_“It took me when I was young, that is mostly what I remember. I grew up on a farm, as I said. With my mother, my father.”_

_“Were they…”_

_“They were loving, from what I remember. I was simply… not so loving. They were patient with me. More patient than most, but there was something in me, and it grew with me.” He closed his eyes and remembered. He could just barely remember their faces, sweet, gentle, harried. He had been such trouble for them._

_“It just… you’ve always been like this?”_

_He nodded. “It would be easier, I think, to have a reason for it, a cause, like our siblings do, but there is nothing, nothing at all.” He sighed softly and kissed John’s cheek. “I was simply born with this evil inside of me... and perhaps that is why I fear I will never be able to control it like they can.”_

_“Do you still see them? Your parents?”_

_An old, fuzzy memory flitted through his mind: the cool chill of darkness rising up and filling his brain, the soft scrape of a knife dragging across muted, yellow wallpaper as fledgling fingers gripped it and he walked down the hall to his parents’ room._

_“Only in my dreams,” he replied softly and John’s face softened. He knew, but it was better not to say it out loud, for both of their sakes. He saw John’s fingers tremor slightly, and then they were lying in the grass together, wrapped up in each other, John’s face pressed against his chest, and when John stroked his hair he felt warm and bright with the sun gently washing over them._

They lined up shots now, and John was just getting so good with them. He could knock them clean out so easily. He was going to give him quite a run for his money, soon.

“We could go hunting sometime, you know? If you’re not squeamish about it.”

“Ew.” John made a face “I don’t want to shoot Bambi.”

“You were more than happy to devour the rabbit curry Tommy prepared last night.”

“Oh GOD. Josh, we ate Thumper last night?” He groaned and Barsad laughed. “Why do you always cook the WEIRDEST foods?”

“You always eat them right up, don’t complain.” Their family’s meal time could be rather diverse, with how much Tommy and Talia had traveled. Their cooking had become very diverse as they picked up bits and pieces of knowledge from around the world.

“Yeah, because you never tell me what poor woodland creature I’m eating until AFTER; that’s disgusting.”

Barsad just grinned. “John, Tommy SLAVES over that.” John snorted and they laughed together, lining up a few more shots. His cell phone softly rang from his pocket and he picked it up, glancing at the name.

“Gordon for you, sweetheart.”

He was surprised when John missed the next shot. They’d have to work on distractions. He handed over the phone. “We really do have to get you your own phone. We just won’t tell Bruce. He’d get you something impossible for us to figure out.” He kissed his cheek and took the rifle so he could answer, propping his chin up over his shoulder and laughing softly when his face got pushed away.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll… I’ll think about it, ok?” John’s tone was softer, and Josh put a more serious hand on his shoulder as he talked a little more and said goodbye.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I just, it’s hard to talk to him.”

He nodded in understanding. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” He shrugged and they went back to practice, but he couldn’t help but notice how John was much less on target than before.

_______________

Gordon wanted him to go back to the warehouse.

_“It might trigger something you forgot before. I know I’m asking a lot, John, believe me, I know. We’re getting ready to go bigger with this, though. We’re working with a sketch artist still, and then we’re giving more over to the press. We keep coming up empty handed and we think some ‘press leaks’ might put some pressure on this guy.”_

How could Gordon possibly expect him to go back to that warehouse? To be fair, the man had no idea, no idea the attacks and trauma he’d been put through since then, but, fuck, just the thought and his throat felt like it was closing off.

_“I thought maybe it would help if you brought Mr. Wayne with you. Can you let me know if you can meet with me there on Saturday? Give me a call, son.”_

The tone was innocuous enough, non-judgmental, but oh it was embarrassing as hell to hear it suggested. Like Bruce was his fucking sugar daddy and needed to hold his hand.

On top of that, he felt like everything was pressing in on him, and it was just too much weight on his shoulders. There were going to be sketches of Josh and information released to the press, and Gordon was just too fucking smart and just, fuck. He felt himself choking a bit and tried to take a few slow breaths.

He couldn’t decide if he should tell them. Neither option looked good at all, but what if he did nothing and Josh was caught? He should at least warn him, so if Josh needed to lay low, he could.

What if he did tell them and Gordon was killed? Maybe he was overplaying it, but that little fear he’d had before had grown once Bruce had told him the story about Alfred, someone good dying for them, and now those roots were all tangled up in his mind. He’d given up a lot, a whole fucking lot of his morals; he couldn’t give up any more, not something like this.

He was supposed to be getting ready to go out with Bruce for lunch, some bonding time. He was pretty sure Bruce was hoping the paparazzi caught just the two of them out together because the man thought it was hilarious, so Talia had conveniently already had plans to take Tommy and Josh out for the day.

Bruce had spent the night. He spent a LOT of nights. John honestly wondered how much use that huge manor of his actually saw. He’d almost teased him about it, but he’d realized, on his own, that being alone in that huge manor by himself would probably feel pretty awful if it was him. It was no wonder that Bruce often slipped into bed with them late at night after his business meetings and grandstanding for the press was over. John could understand that he’d want to just come home to his family after that and not a cold bed.

He could hear the muffled sounds of water running in the bathroom. That morning Talia has scraped a nail over Bruce’s cheek before leaving and made a face, ordering him to shave. Bruce had protested, rubbed his hands all over Josh’s cheeks.

_“Look at this, just look at all of his hair! But he never has to shave for you!” He scratched into it theatrically, and Josh laughed, huffed and pushed at his arms._

_“It looks better on me!”_

_“Leave my little lamb alone,” Tommy laughed softly, but Bruce pinned Josh down so that he was wriggling under him, protesting as Bruce smirked and tickled his fingers under his neck.”_

_“Not until he baas for me.”_

_“Ah, never! Talia!” Josh laughed breathlessly and squirmed more, reaching towards her but getting his arms pinned playfully._

_“Oh, so cruel to our lambkin, Bruce.” She tousled his hair, pursing her lips sympathetically, but then they twisted into a smile. “But still, he should bleat for us.”_

_John laughed loudly, and Josh’s eyes widened before he laughed and accepted his defeat graciously, baa-ing out, and they all laughed._


	54. Chapter 54

His family was kind of ridiculous. The thoughts made him a little calmer and he knocked politely on the bathroom door, slipping into the small room when Bruce called out that he was welcome. Bruce was obeying Talia, because he was smarter than he looked, and was carefully shaving in the sink.

“Miss me?” He glanced back at him from the mirror, quirking an eyebrow.

“Hardly,” he shot back. “I just… Could I talk to you?”

It had to be Bruce, he’d decided. Josh, well, he couldn’t keep a secret from Tommy, and Bruce, he’d learned, was much more, well, strict about what they did, really strict. That coupled with what he’d found out about his old guardian, well, if he was going to tell anyone, to try to get help, then it was going to be from Bruce, and he did want help. He was so tired of trying to handle this alone.

Bruce opened his mouth like he was about to make a joke then seemed to look him over more as he rubbed his face dry with a towel. He paused and set down the cloth quietly. “Of course. What’s wrong, little brother?”

He shifted. They called him that so much now and now it just, well, it felt good, like he really belonged. It felt like so long ago that he hadn’t wanted that. Now he really did, and he wanted to keep them safe, as safe as they made him feel now, which was crazy and he didn’t care, so he needed to do something.

“I don’t… If I tell you something… do you have to tell Talia and Tommy? I mean… if we talked about it and decided it was something they didn’t have to know?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He should have known this wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I just… I mean, like, can we talk about something first, and them not have to find out?”

“I haven’t talked to them about you sneaking out for cigarettes, John, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Bruce gave him an amused look.

John snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “He already caught me; you were out for the night.” Tommy had told him if he was so dedicated to having an oral fixation, then he would be happy to feed it, putting him on his knees and having him take turns sucking on him then Josh as he calmly snapped each of his cigarettes into bits. Then Talia had caught them, and she had been more than happy to join in on the “reprimand” which quickly dissolved into teaching John how to eat a girl out, still on his knees and pressed between her thighs.

Talia was a very, very strict teacher, and by the time he was done with all three of them, he definitely hadn’t been thinking about doing anything else with his mouth for the rest of the night.

“What is it, then?”

“It… I… Fuck.” He rubbed his hands over his face. This was harder than he’d thought. “I’m going to tell you something, and I’m just, ok, please, PLEASE don’t tell them? Not if we can make it ok ourselves, can you at least say you’ll try?”

Bruce paused and mulled it over seriously before he nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Good, ok, good. It’s just that…” He took a deep breath. His anxiety was getting the better of him, more than it had in a while, and he just let it spill. He tried to make it sound like he was ok, like he was not freaking out, but from Bruce’s expression he could tell he was failing miserably. He told him about the video, Gordon’s way too close hunches about Dr. Crane, about how he was going to put out sketches, leak information, wanting him at the warehouse and now that he was saying it out loud he was beginning to panic because it sounded so terrible when it was all put together.

He sank down to sit on the downturned toilet lid and took a shaky breath. “I just… I don’t know what to fucking do, ok?” His voice sounded choked up, and he could feel it in his throat, too, as he looked up at Bruce and hoped to God he was making the right choice by having told him all of this. “What do I DO?”

Bruce took a breath and let it out slowly. His eyes were narrowed, not in anger but like he was thinking deeply, seriously considering and weighing everything John told him, and John felt almost sick with relief that the entire thing was out of hands now, that Bruce was going to take care of this and make the right decision. He felt like he’d just gone to confession, but this time there was actually some sort of absolution in it that he’d never gotten as a child.

“This… This isn’t good, John, ok? You should have come to one of us sooner. That’s not how we handle things.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.” He knew that, but he just hadn’t been able to do it, he really hadn’t.

“It’s ok, you came to me now, and that’s the important thing. I know you’re just trying to do what’s right… and I can understand why you’d hesitate. I think… that we can work this out, John. Maybe even work it out so that it stays between us, ok?”

So that Talia and Tommy, or Bane, didn’t decide for them, because they were more likely to make the choice John was scared of; he knew that was what Bruce was implying. He hadn’t been wrong in thinking they might decide Gordon was too smart, knew too much.  
  
“…Would you just let them do it? If they knew and wanted… that?”

“Let’s not focus on that,” Bruce replied briskly, which was as strong as any yes he’d gotten. If they couldn’t fix it, it would get fixed in other ways that he couldn’t even think about. He couldn’t even imagine the weight of being responsible for someone’s death like that. He closed his eyes tightly.

“Hey, John,” Bruce’s tone was soft and he ran a hand down the back of his neck. His aftershave wafted lightly to John’s nose and he pressed against his side. “We’ll take care of it, ok? You’re going to have to trust me.”

He wanted to. He wanted to just be able to trust them so badly, but this was innocent life, and yes, he’d learned, forced himself to accept on some level, that at least his family was killing bad people, but not Gordon. He couldn’t be responsible for them killing Gordon.

“Shh, come on, you’re ok, little brother.” Bruce knelt down beside him and he hadn’t been aware he was breathing heavier, fingers digging into Bruce’s skin until he was pulled into a tight embrace. Bruce rubbed firm hands down his spine, patting his back until he evened out. Bruce was going to work to make it all ok. His big brother was going to take care of this.  

_______________

He wrapped an arm around John’s waist when he stepped out of the car. He could tell John was torn between being embarrassed at that sort of thing in public and scooting closer. This wasn’t going to be easy. They were both looking across the vast parking lot to the old warehouse, still covered in police tape. Gordon was there waiting.

“You know you can do this,” Bruce reassured him, squeezing his side. “Just remember what I told you.”

It had been… difficult to figure things out on his own, but he thought he had done very well, actually. He could understand perfectly well why John was so worried about Talia and Tommy knowing, and he’d worked hard to be able to set things up without them finding out about it. If it went off fine, he could let them know later, when he was sure it would be safer. He didn’t want to keep that sort of secret from them. Sometimes secrets were for the best, but not in this case.

John was breathing heavier at the warehouse doors, and he might have been embarrassed about it, but Bruce wasn’t going to take his hand off him if he was like this before they even stepped inside. Gordon greeted them, glanced at Bruce’s hand and didn’t say a word. Bruce made a mental note to make a generous donation at the next policeman’s ball.

“Are you ready, John?” Gordon asked it gently. He seemed like a good man; Bruce could understand why John had fixated on him, had decided he was worth keeping secrets from the family for. It was rare to get that feeling of simple, genuine good radiated at him from someone. He would certainly try to keep the commissioner alive and not just for John’s sake.

He did understand why Talia and Tommy went to extremes at times, even if he couldn’t do it himself; he couldn’t stray from his strict path, it was far too dangerous. Compassion, he had to have compassion and a code, or he knew he would disintegrate quickly into the very things they struck down. He relied on Tommy and Talia to make the hard decisions. This, though, he was pretty sure he could take care of.

He had been to the warehouse before. He had helped Barsad map out the best place for it, cleaned up the center and moved some things with him. It had been a bit of a group project with them and Bane who had insisted on making sure things were set up to his strict standards, as well. It had been a long time, though, and the air in it was stale from disuse and how it had been boarded up carefully by the police to keep out thrill seekers. He could smell the faint scent of old blood; it wasn’t something that called to him, but it did remind him of his family and how much work Barsad had done here. They hadn’t talked about it, but he must have been sad to see his carefully set up workshop go.

It was lit up well now, floodlights on even in the daytime. John had asked for it specifically, and Bruce had thought it was a good idea. His eyes flicked around nervously, like he expected those huge lights to suddenly die and for him to be plunged into darkness.

“You’re doing good, John,” he murmured softly. It was convenient at the moment that people thought they were an item. It made it ok to comfort him in public like this, like John clearly needed right now. It would have been better if it was Talia, Talia was the best at these sorts of things, but Bruce would do his best. “You’re doing just fine, I’m sure.”

John’s head bobbed slightly and his hand reached down to grab Bruce’s rather tightly. “O-ok. I started from up there,” he pointed up at the high overhead, “and I walked down…” His voice trailed off, and Bruce looked up to see a large hole in the worn metal of the overhead.

“No, wrong side. That’s… That’s… that’s where I fell.” John’s voice was thin, barely more than a whisper.

It was high. Bruce hugged his arm around him. His poor little brother had had it pretty rough, and this wasn’t helping anything, but it needed to be done. John leaned into him and looked closer. “Ok, here… Here is where I walked down.” His voice was a bit more steady as he walked to the end of a staircase.

He walked slowly, closing his eyes a few times then quickly snapping them open, clearly not wanting to be in the dark any longer than necessary. He explained how he had gone, the noises he had heard, and Bruce felt sympathetic. He hadn’t received the story in such explicit detail before. It was no wonder it had taken John so long to be able to relax around them. It just showed how much he belonged with them now, that he was doing so well.

His breathing was shallower when they reached the center of the warehouse. It was where they had set Barsad up, and Bruce knew how it would have looked when John stepped into it, having seen his brother work on more than one occasion. John was truly very lucky to have come in at the brunt end of it, after Barsad’s darkness had started to recede. As he explained the running, that he’d ran as fast as he could, and they tried to follow the path he’d taken, Bruce realized that if Barsad had caught him in his run, he would have been butchered by Barsad’s darkness.

His quick feet had been one of the only things that had saved John that night. There was a slight wheeze to John’s breathing when they reached the stairs.

“John…” Gordon hesitated, clearly torn between getting as much information as he could and making sure John was ok. Bruce put his hands on John’s shoulders.

“We can stop…”

“N-no! I can DO this,” John insisted, waving away Bruce’s hands. The way he was so tense, it was clear John was close to experiencing a flashback and was struggling through it. He was so determined to follow through for him, for the family.

“It was here. I fell here and f-fuck. I could hear him… I took out my phone, to see—”

He gasped suddenly, like he was remembering something, and Gordon leaned in sharply. “What is it, John?”

“I—I, it’s hard to remember,” he hesitated. “When, when I threw my phone at him the light was in his face. I, G-God, I can’t believe I remember.”

He put his hands in front of his face, like he was trying to remember details. Gordon was making notes furiously in his notepad. The words were all lies, but the anxiety and stress John was feeling from being back in the warehouse was more than real, and it was lending credibility to his acting.

“He, his nose was kind of crooked, like it had been broken before…” He wavered. “Jesus, fuck, I can see him. I can fucking SEE him.”

“Good, John, that’s good. Do you think you can describe him?” Gordon’s eyes were lit up. Bruce almost felt bad. Almost. They were keeping the guy alive, though, so he felt that earned them a little credit. Besides, Gordon would be getting a killer out of the deal, anyway.

John nodded slowly. “I think. I think I can.”

Bruce had rehearsed this with him, given him specific characteristics to remember, enough that the blurry images from the video wouldn’t be too conflicting, but would steer right away from Barsad. John thought it was so he had something to memorize. Bruce let him think that. John didn’t need to know that he was helping to frame what would be a very unlucky man in the near future.

John collapsed against him in the car as soon as they saw Gordon drive out of the lot.

“Shh, hey. I’ve got you.” He rubbed his back.

“Fuck. I never want to go back there again.”

“And you won’t ever have to. In fact, when this blows over, I’ll buy it, and we’ll burn it to the ground, ok?”

“Promise?”

He smiled and tousled his hair. “Promise.”


	55. Chapter 55

They came in late that night. He had taken John out after they went to the police station to talk to a sketch artist so that he could take his mind off the whole incident. He hoped John had had a good time with him. He’d gotten him to laugh a bit while they worked to ditch the paparazzi and slip into an old history museum for a while. John had liked the old weaponry displays and antique guns even though he declared the rest to be “incredibly boring,” then they’d spent the night at a bar, a fancy one. John’s eyes had gotten wide at the ridiculous flair the bartenders put into mixing their drinks, but he’d loved it, Bruce could tell, and they had taken turns thinking up ludicrous drink orders to throw them for a loop.

As it was, SOMEONE had to actually drink all of those drinks, and John had been more than a little smashed by the time they left. He could admire that his little brother was a pretty cute drunk, all sloppy kisses and a quick blowjob in the car because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Bruce had kept his drinking down knowing Barsad wasn’t there to play designated driver like before, but he’d figured the wet mouth around his cock had more than made up for that. He had given John a quick kiss right after John had licked his lips and looked awfully satisfied with himself for a job well done, then he’d taken them home, pouring John into bed beside Josh who was already sound asleep.

He went to go check on things with Talia and Tommy, and instead found Talia and Bane waiting for him in the kitchen, seated at the table. They looked at him silently, and Talia’s face was stern.

He knew what getting caught felt like, and he sighed, feeling bad. He had tried, but it was very, very hard to keep secrets from them. He had never quite managed it.

“How much did you figure out?”

“Enough. Now you will tell us the rest.” Bane responded calmly, not angry, simply firm and confident that he would not be denied what he ordered.

Bruce nodded, and Bane pushed out a kitchen chair for him with his foot for him to sit and speak.

____________________

“Are you driving? John, you shouldn’t answer the phone while you are driving,” Tommy scolded. A smile tugged at John’s lips at the over-protectiveness, and so he raised his foot up a little on the gas to slow down.

“It’s fine. I’ll be careful, I promise. What’s up?”

Tommy made a vague sound of disapproval, but he continued, “I am sorry that this is sudden again, John, but we will be gone for a few days.”

He gripped the cellphone tightly and swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “What… already?” He’d thought Talia only did her thing every few months. It had barely been a week. One week since he’d read the Sunday paper and saw a headline declaring industry leader “John Daggett” had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Talia had glanced over his shoulder and looked rather amused and, well, he knew that the police were not going to be finding Mr. Daggett.

“Yes, this came up… unexpectedly,” Tommy agreed.

That seemed strange. He didn’t like to know details, but he lived with them and he was too curious for his own good; he wanted to be a detective, so he’d picked them up anyway. Talia planned carefully, the most carefully, and he was sure she’d only done her thing once since he’d been there. This felt way too soon.

“Wait, are you… Are you going to take Josh with you?”

“That is what you wanted,” Tommy reminded him gently, and it was. He didn’t want what had happened last time. He still felt uneasy from that. He’d felt uneasy for the past week or so between that and Gordon and the warehouse, and he wanted things to settle down again. He just wanted to be able to relax and be with them and not worry. They were leaving, though.

“I… yeah, I know. You should,” he agreed quietly. The idea was harder in practice than when he had told Bane off. “Bruce will stay, right?”

“Of course; I am going to call him next. He should still be home now.”

John nodded. He’d gone out to talk to the academy administration, work on setting things up again, and it had taken a whole lot of waiting around, but things were looking good. He was going to start again as soon as the next section of classes ran. He was going to surprise them with that, make them smile because they almost seemed to be more worried about him finishing the academy than he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he did, but they were being so encouraging, just like Josh had always been; only now there were three more people gently pushing him, praising him and, well, it was good.

He had also been going to surprise Josh with the present he had kind of sort of gotten for himself that day. Well, that one of Bruce Wayne’s credit cards, handed over to him by Talia, had gotten him. The clearance check and licensing had gone through for him, and he’d been able to pick it up. They’d decided that it would be good for him to have his own firearm to practice with at home and for when he joined the force. He’d done careful research and made sure it was in the guidelines, and now he was the proud owner of a third generation Glock 17. He guessed he’d have to wait to show Josh, and then he could teach him how to use it like he’d been helping him with the rifle.

“Ok… Ok.” This was going to suck, but at least Bruce was going to be there. He wasn’t going to be stuck being alone. He couldn’t even imagine going to sleep alone, anymore.

“You are welcome to call us before bed, ok?”

He smiled a little at that and felt better. “Ok, thanks… I’ll miss you.”

“We will miss you, as well, little brother, and we will see you soon.”

He sighed and tossed the cellphone onto the passenger seat. Oh well. He’d get to show Bruce and, well, there was no way he was going to let Bruce touch his pretty new toy, but he’d take him out to the fence and make him watch what a good shot he was.

He pulled into the garage and kind of nearly ran over Bruce who he was totally not expecting to be in the middle of the driveway re-arranging some boxes.

“I thought we had an agreement, family doesn’t kill each other!” Bruce shouted at him through the window.

He snorted. He was fine, the baby. “I didn’t know you were there!”

“Well I am, and I was almost flat.” Bruce gave him a playful shove when he stepped out. “Just you?”

“Yeah, they didn’t call you yet? Uhm, they will… They’re going to be gone a couple of days.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that, and it made him feel a little uneasy, that he seemed surprised, too. “Oh, ok. I guess it’s just you and me, then. I’m sure they’ll call. So, where have you been?”

He brightened and explained about the academy, about his new firearm, too, feeling himself getting warmer when Bruce gave him an affectionate hair ruffle, a hug. “I’m proud you took the initiative, John.”

He nuzzled into him just a little. Bruce always smelled great, he had the best aftershave. “You’re just happy I’m spending your money.”

“A little, yes. God knows someone has to. No pool, John, no pool.”

He laughed. “Still not with you on the pool, sorry.”

Bruce sighed the sigh of the long suffering and let him go. “Alright, you wanted to show off your sharpshooting? Barsad said you were pretty ok.”

“I am more than pretty ok, I am fucking fantastic.” He smirked. “Yeah. I’m going to get things set up if you want to watch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, ok?”

He pulled him in for a kiss, grinning like an idiot and he didn’t even care, before taking his new purchase out back. When Josh got back, he was going to put it into the holster Josh had gotten him and show it off for him. For now, though, he loaded it carefully and set up targets. He waited patiently, for about all of 5 minutes before he figured Bruce had probably gotten distracted by something and flicked the safety on, sighing in exasperation before he want to go check on him. He walked in through the back porch, reaching for the door when he heard Bruce’s voice drifting out from the open window. It had been hot lately in the kitchen, and they’d been leaving them open. He could see Bruce through it, walking across the kitchen floor, his face cloudy with irritation.

_“Are you all down there already? Why didn’t you tell me?  I should be there for this!”_

John stopped in confusion. Bruce sounded pretty upset.

_“You know how I feel about it! I don’t want to be here playing at being a distraction for him.”_

Well fine. That stung more than a little, and it surprised him, but he wasn’t going to force Bruce to stick around. He felt his stomach go a little queasy. He’d just tell him he wanted some alone time, and tell him he should go enjoy himself.

_“Of course he shouldn’t know! No, you tell Bane that it can’t be like that. John’s not like us. Don’t put him through that.”_

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He tensed, trying to listen, trying to put the pieces together.

_Just let it be what it is, I’d just rather be there for it. Do what needs to be done, and I’ll keep him home. He’ll probably figure it out, eventually, he’s a smart kid, but it’ll be easier for him to cope later when it’s already done.”_

It snapped into place.

 

Gordon.

 

Bruce sighed and glanced over, spotting him through the window. He froze, looking startled, and quickly hung up the phone.

“John…”

He had told them. Bruce had told them.

“How could you!” he shouted, shocked, sick. They had Gordon. They were going to kill him. He couldn’t let that happen.

Bruce edged towards the door, opened it quickly and cautiously reached to put his hands on his shoulders. “John, you have to listen to me, it’s not—”

“No!”

He shoved at him as hard as he could. Bruce wasn’t expecting it and he fell back, winced as he crashed back into a chair and fell painfully to the floor with it. John flinched, felt a flash of guilt and worry that he’d hurt Bruce’s back.

 

Then he ran.

 

“JOHN!”

He couldn’t let them kill Gordon. He just couldn’t.

He drove. Fast, as fast as he could. So fast he could barely control the car, could barely control himself. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, but he couldn’t let them kill Gordon. What if they already had? He would be dead, and it would be his fault. It would be his fault that Gordon died.

Bruce was following him. He had to be. John had learned to drive the car he’d been given, though, and he drove it ruthlessly, recklessly, with squealing tires and screeching breaks until he was at the manor. He had had a head start and he wasn’t going to be stopped.

 

Gordon couldn’t die.

 

He knew how to get there, to where they unleashed their fucking hell, or cleansing or purging or vengeance, whatever they called it; he knew where it was. He’d been to the manor plenty of times now, to see Bruce, to have family dinner, and they’d told him, just in case, just in case there was an emergency. He hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t ever wanted to see, but he knew the keys to press on the old grand piano. His fingers were shaking while he banged at the keys, messing it up the first two attempts. He hadn’t let go of his gun the entire time he’d driven. He couldn’t let it go.

“John! Don’t go down there!” he could hear Bruce shouting for him in the halls; he’d shoved a chair under the door, but it’d only buy him a few minutes. He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let them kill Gordon. He was not going to let them kill someone innocent like that. He just couldn’t.

The bookcase swung open and he raced, scrambled down the musty corridor it revealed.

An elevator. He took it, listening to its slow clanking as he descended. He’d never been to see it before. He’d never wanted to see it, but he was there now. It was dark, not as dark as the basement, but so dark still when the door slid open.

He could see them. He could see them and he could see faint movement at their feet.

 

He smelled blood and he saw. He saw, and everything changed, and everything was rushing, rushing right over his head. There was anger and it bubbled. It bubbled worse than it ever had before. It was pure rage.

 

He was blank inside when he aimed and he fired. There was black and red and blood in the air.

 

He was kneeling now, kneeling over bodies. He could feel the blood seeping into his pants, collecting warm and sticky against his skin. He was cold and empty, no anger left to warm him.

"John, JOHN! We have to GO," Bruce's voice was so distant in his ears, but urgent. He was being tugged away from blood and gore and death and he was screaming while he could hear the quiet voice echoing his head, what he had heard as he knelt over those dying bodies.

_"It's alright. It's alright, sweetheart."_


	56. Chapter 56

He sat on the bottom of the stairs at the grand entrance of Wayne Manor, leaning his head against the banister, feeling cold inside and out. The police were milling about him. Some stealing glances at him but he barely noticed. He didn't feel like he was inside of his own body anymore.

Someone was standing in front of him now, no, kneeling down, putting a blanket over his shoulders. He was numb. So numb.

He was still holding the gun, his fingers wouldn’t let go of their white-knuckle grip until the man eased them carefully and took it. Three bullets. Three lives. It was so easy. So fucking easy. How could he have done this?

"It's going to be alright, son," he reassured him gently. "You did what you had to do."

Not this. Not fucking THIS. He could see those bodies, see them being covered up, wheeled away, and he was going to be sick. The man talking to him could tell. He got a wastebasket for him, and he purged out everything in his stomach with awful spasms until he was emptied out, and he was still gagging.

Bruce was watching him from a distance. His eyes were dark, staring at him. He couldn’t look back at him. He had done this, this was his own fault, and if he had just listened this never would have happened.

He was still talking to the officers as he watched John. How could he sound so calm when he explained? As he explained that these were the killers, that they had come for John finally, and that John had shot them in self-defense. The bodies had been moved up into the foyer before Bruce had contacted the police, the trails of blood cleaned up. It was an obvious open and shut thing. There wouldn’t be any need to dig too deeply. Neat and easy, all wrapped up for the authorities.

He tried to throw up all over again.

He wanted to go home. He wanted Josh. He wanted his family. He broke, dropped the trash can and put his face down into his hands and cried. He couldn’t help it. He needed them.

“He’s been through enough today. He’s not going to answer any more questions. He needs some rest,” he could hear Bruce say sternly to the officers around them. “I’m going to get him out of here for now. We'll be going to a hotel for the night at least. The last place he needs to be is here.”

He was still numb when Bruce’s arm went over his shoulder, he was still crying. Bruce wasn’t enough. He was family, but he wasn’t enough. Right now he needed Josh, needed them all, and he couldn’t have them, and he felt broken.

“Come on, John.” Bruce’s voice was tight.  “We’re going to go now, ok?”

He nodded, letting himself be guided out past the dozens of police cars, the yellow tape, all of those milling voices. They were all a blur around his head, nothing he could focus on.

"I-I can't-"

Bruce's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Not yet, John, not yet, ok?"

He nodded tensely. Bruce kept him moving until they were past the crowd, into his huge garage. It was bigger, much bigger than the one at home, so many cars. When they were clear of all of that noise and those watching eyes he ran, ran for the nearest car and flung the door open, lunged into it.

He was caught in strong, slender arms and held fast.

“You left,” he cried and burrowed into him.

“Shh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. We couldn’t risk us being seen at all when the police arrived.”

“Oh God, oh God, Josh,” he sobbed, clinging to him, feeling Talia and Tommy beside him, wrapping up as close as they could to him in the cramped back seat. Bruce’s hand went into his hair for a moment and they were all touching him, all soothing him, before he had to go to the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry, John,” Josh whispered, and he sounded so upset for him. He still didn’t understand what had happened, how all of this had happened, how everything had been going so well and then it had changed so fast.

“W-why—”

Tommy pulled him into his arms and he went, felt himself crushed against him. “Talia and Bruce tracked them, John. You were not to know of it unless you asked. We did not wish to bring up old memories in you.”

“I d-didn’t, I th-thought…”

“He thought you’d taken Gordon down there, I think,” Bruce explained quietly, glancing back at them from the rearview mirror as he drove. “I couldn’t get him to let me explain it. He took off before I could.”

“Oh John, little brother.” Talia made a noise of sympathy, and he was passed to her next. He felt her neck getting damp as he laid his head there. He felt limp. “You and Bruce already took care of Gordon very well. We were not perusing him.”

He knew that now, but it was too late. It was too late to fix things, and he wished he had just listened to them, had let Bruce explain things to him. It hadn’t been Gordon down there, at all.

It had taken a moment, only a moment to stare down at those three figures on the ground all tied together in a barely moving heap. They were older, bruised, blood covered the face of one of them; it had been a long time, and he hadn’t understood right away, but then he had remembered. He had remembered them just fine. He remembered the sharp crack of a gun being fired, he remembered staring up at them while he held onto his daddy, while he cried and watched him bleed out on the floor right in front of him.

The anger had killed them, had taken its revenge. He was a murderer. He sobbed out the words, and Josh gathered him back to him. He burrowed in tight, needed all of the warmth and strength Josh had to give because he was cold and so weak feeling inside.

“John, sweetheart, no, it was an accident. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Misunderstandings didn’t make it better. He had taken life, he had taken three lives. He had been consumed, but he had known what he was doing when he had aimed for each head and fired. Rage had controlled it, but he had pulled the trigger. They had been killers, but they had been human beings, and he’d murdered them.

“They would have died anyway, John.” Tommy ran his hand down his back. “They were to pay for their crimes against you.”

“We didn’t need you to know,” Talia told him. “We were going to let it be our gift to you, our secret retribution against the men who slayed your father.”

He choked out another sob at that, and Talia shushed him gently.

“We had planned it. It took a long time to track all three down, John. I had you match one of them as a description to Gordon in the warehouse,” Bruce explained. “We were going to use it to our advantage. So we could take care of him and the worry about Barsad. We were going to make his look like an accident and take the police of Barsad’s trail.”

They were trying to make him feel better by explaining how it all would have happened with or without him there to pull the trigger, but it wasn’t any different. He was still a killer.

“Soft, sweet, little brother, it will be alright. You will endure this,” Talia promised, and she stroked his hair as she and Tommy settled tightly against either side of him, Josh humming softly into his ear. He could feel Bruce’s eyes on him constantly, even while he drove.

“It will be alright, I promise, sweetheart.”

He hurt so badly inside, his head throbbed, but they were there. They were there for him, and they would understand this. No one else in the world could understand what he had done like they could. They would understand him and hold him and sooth him through all of this horror.

“C-can we please just go home?” His voice was wavery and exhausted. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course, John; we will go home and hold you through the night,” Tommy promised, and he sunk down into their hold more at that. They had him. He let Josh rock him in silence, and tried not to cry.

Tommy carried him inside. He clung to him weakly. He’d finally stopped crying, but he couldn’t talk yet or it would start again. He let them lay him down. They peeled the bloody clothes from him piece by piece, bathed his skin so gently with warm, soapy water until he was clean for them, and made him take little sips of water.

They took turns speaking to him, reassuring him, and he needed to hear those voices, he needed Bruce when he pulled him in for a tight hug, Talia when she sung softly against his ear, Josh when he held onto him and whispered how much he loved him, and Tommy when he rocked him gently before laying him down on the bed again to rest. He was surrounded by them, closed in on, and he was so tired and warm from their skin and their love; even though he still felt open and wounded, they were a balm covering him up and numbing that pain.

He faded in and out, each time he closed his eyes he saw blood and heard gunshots. The warehouse, the basement, the doctor’s office, those things that haunted his dreams were gone and replaced with something much worse.  Those things had been done TO him, this was something he had done himself, and he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop seeing it. He whimpered in exhaustion and cried a little more over the frustration of not being able to find rest, an escape from his feelings. He felt a hand rubbing soothingly along his side.

He could barely hear Josh’s voice, worried, hesitant, as he whispered from behind him. “Do you… do you think we caused the darkness in him, brother?”

He was weary, so tired, when Tommy cupped his chin. He looked up at him blearily through tear-streaked lashes, his face feeling swollen. Tommy studied him; his gaze was so intent it made him close his eyes finally under the pressure. He felt the gentlest of kisses across his lashes.

“No. He is too sweet for it. He is still our innocent little lamb, he is just lost now, but he will find his way back.”

He could feel the relief in the room, the relief in his heart even though he was still so hurt and aching. This hurt beyond words, but if Tommy said he would find hisway back, he would. They were who they were, but they didn’t want the same for him. He knew that they would make this ok, that they would guide him back to himself.

They were his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug (If you don't hate me by now) http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/
> 
> Tumblr is where I put all of my ficcing updates and such so follow me if you're curious as to what I'm doing next.
> 
> Thinking about a sequel to this...No promises but perhaps one day.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [5 Variant Covers for Menirva's "Sweetheart"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/626341) by [Neffie (originalneffie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalneffie/pseuds/Neffie)
  * ["Sweetheart" Banner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/628576) by [Simbeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simbeline/pseuds/Simbeline)




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